Thorn In His Side
by Ardeth Saunders
Summary: Recently divorced, Donovan faces new challenges, including a CIA operative who is a thorn in his side.
1. Unexpected News

**TITLE****:  "Thorn In His Side"**

**AUTHOR****:  Ardeth Saunders [a.k.a., Cruecial or Cruecial411]**

**RATING****:  R [Language, violence, and adult content]**

**SYNOPSIS****:  Recently divorced, Donovan faces new challenges, including a CIA operative who is a thorn in his side.**

**GENRE****:  Drama, Suspense, and Action  **

**DISCLAIMER****:  _UC:  Undercover_ and its cast of characters belong to the writers, creators, NBC, and a dozen others.  NO infringement intended.  All other original characters belong solely to the sick, twisted, and vivid imagination of the author.**

**AUTHOR'S NOTE****:  First and foremost, I know nothing about the CIA.  I do not know if "Death Angels," "AOP," or "assassination" squads exist.  The plot is complete fiction and conjecture.  So big brother if you're watching, this is for entertainment purposes only!!!!  HA!**

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UNEXPECTED NEWS 

"Excuse me," a voice said from behind him.

Donovan turned toward a pimply-faced teenager.  The young man was holding a manila envelope in his sweaty palms.  "Are you lost," Donovan asked.

"Na-no sir," the kid replied.  "Are you Frank Donovan?"

"Yes."

The kid handed him the envelope and asked for his signature.  After that, he hauled ass out of there as if he were afraid Donovan was going to take after him.  He carried the envelope over to the conference table and sat down.  He tore into it impatiently.  Recently, he hadn't been in a good mood.  He missed his wife and daughter desperately.  It had been several weeks since he saw them last.  When he had the envelope nearly torn to shreds, the documents inside slid easily onto the table.  _Remy Ellis-Donovan v. Frank Donovan_.  What the hell was this?  Shocked, he realized he was looking at a divorce decree.  _She wants to fucking divorce me?  She is certainly good at running away_.  What was she thinking?  Had their marriage gone down the tubes that fast?  When he saw her last, she hadn't said word one about wanting to divorce him.  Their contact had been strained, but not to this point.  Apparently, she had made her decision in the span of weeks she had been gone.  Angrily, he was tempted to rip the envelope and the legal documents into hundreds of little pieces, but he hesitated.  He wanted to stare at them, to absorb the shock a bit longer before he called his wife.  

Donovan was intent to put away thoughts of Remy for the time being.  However, there was a picture of her and Stasia on his desk.  _So much for not thinking about them_, he thought.He picked up the picture frame and gazed down at the photo.  Stasia had turned two a few months ago, and she looked so much like her mother, it hurt.  He put the picture down and pushed back from his desk.  He tromped toward the window and stared out of it blankly.  Where and when had it gone wrong?  Had he really forgotten, or was he only trying to protect himself?  What happened?  God help him, but he still loved her, that hadn't changed one iota.  He thought it might have begun to falter a bit right after the baby was born.  They had argued vehemently about what to name her.  Remy insisted on Frankie Anastasia, but he had absolutely balked.  He wasn't one to relish having his namesake plastered onto a child.  He didn't want his daughter to be named after him any more than Remy wanted her named after her.  He was all for giving her something that completely belonged to her and no one else.  He had relented, eventually, but he insisted they call her Stasia or Ana or anything besides Frankie.  Remy had relented on that point for a while.  After that little tiff, things seemed to smooth out at home.  They were both painfully happy, painfully awkward new parents.  Donovan absolutely fell in love with and doted on his daughter.  Remy claimed that he was spoiling her.  Their differences in parenting had sparked a few arguments here and there, but nothing serious.  Even the Frankie/Stasia argument was more play arguing than anything else.  However, his settled family life would soon become quite shaky.

His and Remy's first major argument came about when Stasia was about three months old.  Donovan had taken time off for the birth of his daughter and stayed at home, offering as much help to his wife as possible.  However, both of them knew there would come a day when he would have to go back.  When they first moved in together, he thought Remy was okay with his position, with the job he had to do.  He knew any woman married to a man such as he would have worries, stress, and fear, it was what she should expect.  Remy seemed to fit into that category, or so he thought.  She apparently had been denying her _real_ feelings.  His first assignment back on the job was a huge one.  He and the team had had to fly halfway across the continent to break up a ring of international bank robbers.  It was a grueling job, keeping them all away from their families and friends for eight weeks.  Donovan wasn't thrilled with the job, nor was he thrilled with the idea of being separated from his wife and daughter for two full months.  When he had called her the first night, Remy had cried throughout the two-hour conversation, declaring that she missed him terribly.  Each time he called, the same thing happened.  Not once did she share her true feelings.  Not once did she attempt it.  Of course, he had never really asked, had he?  He simply expected her to grin and bare it, as she had done throughout the span of their relationship.  Basically, he had taken her for granted, and he was completely aware of this, but not quite coherent enough to do anything about it.  During the assignment, Donovan was allowed to fly back home every third weekend.  He had fought tooth and nail for that, because Stasia had been at a crucial developmental stage, and by God, his daughter _would_ know her father.  The visits went wonderfully with Stasia, but were strained with Remy.  Neither of them had explored it, they didn't want to fight during the short time they had together.

Upon his return to Chicago, he immediately went home, not bothering to dawdle around the office.  His first night home had gone smashingly.  He and Remy had made love until dawn, and he was totally oblivious to what was really going on inside her.  He drifted off to sleep as the sun began to rise, and he had assumed his wife did as well.  She had not.  She left the bed the instant he was asleep and stood gazing out the window of their high-rise apartment.  He woke up when he noticed her missing from beside him and watched as she stared blankly out the window.  When he asked what was wrong, she gave her standard 'nothing' answer.  In his usual bulldog fashion, he wouldn't leave it alone until they had gotten tangled up into a full-blown shouting match.  They managed to wake up the baby, and Donovan had taken the blame for that as well.  It took a few hours for both of them to calm down and apologize to each other.  The matter was dropped altogether and they went on with their lives as if nothing was wrong.  Yet, the real issues, the _true_ heart of the matter wouldn't come up until months later.  That wasn't to say they hadn't had their arguments here and there, but it had gotten completely out of hand in a big way.

The team had been sent out of town on another extended assignment.  This one, however, would span no longer than three or four days.  The night before he left town, he made love to his wife and spent as much time with his daughter as was humanly possible.  Remy had been thoroughly okay with his going away [or so he thought].  She had even accompanied him to the aeroplex where the team's chartered plane awaited.  They had actually parted on a high note, and Donovan was certain the worst was behind them.  Hadn't he thought that before?  _Hadn't he_?  He was wrong, wrong again, and off target.  What started it all was a misguided news report announcing that several FBI agents had been gunned down while in active duty.  It just so happened that the agents were working the same assignment, but the UC team hadn't been near them.  In fact, they were five of the ten or so who made it out alive.  Back home, Remy was frantic, as Donovan expected.  As soon as he could reach a phone, he called.  There were lots of tears, lots of sadness, but overall, she was ecstatic that he was still alive.  He returned home to her a few days later, expecting love, but instead, he received the sharp side of Remy's tongue.

At first, she couldn't stop kissing him, touching him, whispering his name and declaring her love for him.  When her tears dried, and she finally accepted that he wouldn't dry up and blow away, she drew away from him and sat sullenly on the couch.  Their two-year-old sat complacently on her mother's lap, goggling up at her father, wondering what was going on between her parents.  Anticipating another fight, Donovan took Stasia from Remy and carried her to her room.  He didn't want her to hear their argument.  He wanted to shield his daughter from that.  When he returned to the room, he sat beside his wife and waited for the storm to pass.  However, it didn't pass, it grew, swelled, and filled the room with thick, suffocating tension.

"Remy, what is it," he finally asked.

She shook her head and buried her face in her hands.  She stayed that way only for a moment before focusing her lovely violet eyes on his face.  "I can't take this anymore, Frank.  I just can't.  It's too much."

Although it was obvious what she was talking about, Donovan still felt the urge to play dumb.  "You can't take what, Remy?  My job?  What I do?"  She said nothing, only nodded.  He continued, "You knew _who _I was, _what _I was when you married me.  Why is this bothering you now?"

She rolled her eyes and swiped her tears impatiently out of her eyes.  "It has _always_ bothered me, Frank, but you don't notice.  You think I can grin and bear it.  I can't do this anymore.  Every time you walk out the door, I wonder if you're going to come home to me.  You're away more than you are here.  For God's sake, Frank, you were gone once for two months!  You missed two months of our marriage, two months of our daughter's life.  I can't do it," she repeated, "I can't, Frank, not unless I want to lose my mind."

Donovan's heart fell.  He hoped he wasn't hearing what he thought he was.  He didn't think he could take it.  "What are you saying, Remy?  I want you to clarify your words, because unless I'm mistaken, you're issuing an ultimatum.  Are you asking me to choose?"

She stood up suddenly, needing to get away from him for a moment.  "I don't know what I'm asking, Frank.  All I know is that I can't take this shit anymore."

"Do you think this is easy for me?  I hate leaving you and Stasia.  It kills me."

"I know it does, Frank, I can see it in your eyes when you leave.  However, you don't ever stop, do you?  You don't throw up your hands and say 'fuck this, I'm staying home.'  I can scream, cry, throw a hissy fit, but you won't stop.  _You will not stop_.  Don't lie and say you can, because you can't."

He gazed up at her solemnly.  "What do you intend to do, Remy?"  He wasn't stupid.  He knew what she was going to do; he knew it as well as she knew what was in _his _mind.  She intended to run, just as she always did when faced with adversity.  She couldn't tackle it head on.

"I think we should separate for a while until we both know what we want to do."

"_What_," he spat indignantly.  "You want to leave me?  You want to take our daughter and disappear?  Remy, that's so very convenient for you, isn't it?  I thought that you gave up running away after we married."  It was his hurt talking, and later, he would hate himself for it.  His stubbornness wouldn't allow him to see Remy's side of this.

"You really know how to hurt me, don't you," she spat, on the verge of tears.  "So hit me while I'm down.  I don't want to leave, Frank, but I have no choice.  I can't live like this anymore.  I need a break, I need some time.  I won't keep you from your daughter.  I will make sure that you can see her whenever you want.  I'm not leaving you forever, just long enough to get my shit together, to breathe.  I have lived with this life far too long.  I love you, Frank, I love you very deeply, but I need to go, I need to leave before it _is_ forever."

After that, Donovan could not argue with her further.  She was intent to leave, and nothing he could say or do would stop her.  He didn't want to be home while she packed some of hers and Stasia's clothes.  He drifted down to the bar a few blocks from the apartment building.  He didn't drink.  He sat and brooded.  Remy told him she would need at least two hours to pack and get out.  He couldn't believe it, couldn't believe that their marriage was falling apart before his very eyes while he sat back and did nothing.  He kept telling himself that it wasn't completely over, she hadn't asked for a divorce.  It was still reparable.  When he waited the two full hours Remy requested, he went back to the apartment.  He instantly noticed how silent it was, how empty.  There was no wife singing silly songs to their daughter.  No child to squeal and scream as she tried to drive her parents insane.  There was nothing, nothing but silence, and he hated silence more than anything.

The first couple of weeks were torturous.  Before marrying Remy, Donovan had grown accustomed to living alone.  However, he had gotten more than comfortable having a wife and child.  It was something he hadn't had before, and he found that he _liked_ sharing his life.  Although he didn't like the separation, he tolerated it.  For a few days, Donovan refused to speak to Remy, even on the telephone.  If she needed time, he would damn well give it to her.  He eventually relented.  He wanted to hear her voice, wanted to see her and Stasia.

Their first meeting as 'estranged' spouses was awkward and tentative.  Remy refused to meet him at the apartment.  She didn't want the temptation of having Donovan coax her to bed, and he would.  All he had to do was look at her a certain way, and she was his for the asking.  She didn't want to sleep with him right away; it would only complicate their lives, and God forbid if she became pregnant again.  She wasn't any happier than Donovan, but she also couldn't face coming back, not knowing from day-to-day if her husband would come home alive or in a body bag.  Of course, their 'playing nice' meeting had gone awry when Donovan made the mistake of asking her when she would come home.  

Remy had gotten angry and called out to their daughter, "Frankie, let's go."

_Frankie.  She called our daughter Frankie_.  It was a silly thing to argue about, of course, but it irked him to no end.  She knew damn well how he felt about calling their child 'Frank' or 'Frankie.'  It set him right off.  "Frankie?  When did you start calling her that?"

She sighed, so not wanting to get into another argument over the baby's name.  "I've always called her that.  You just haven't been around enough to hear it."  Without another word to him, she retrieved Stasia and left.

Each subsequent meeting was more strained than the last.  However, it was perfectly clear to them both that they each loved the other.  Donovan tried hard not to argue with his wife.  He focused on enjoying his time with her and the baby.  He missed Remy terribly, but he went absolutely nuts without his daughter.  It still irked him tremendously whenever he heard Remy refer to her as "Frankie," but he tried not to needle her.  The strain between her parents was evident, even for a two-year-old.  Occasionally, Remy dropped off Stasia and left to keep down the arguing.  

The separation spanned far too many weeks, and eventually Donovan grew tired of waiting.  He approached Remy about reconciliation, and she seemed interested in coming back.  They spent a wonderful weekend together.  It felt natural and right, as if they were a family again.  They made love after many, many weeks, and Donovan thought he had died and gone to heaven.  It was amazing how terrific it felt having her back in his arms.  However, by Monday morning, Remy and Stasia were gone again.  He had gotten a call on Sunday night.  Remy seemed fine with it, but she wasn't.  She left him again and didn't come back.  After that day, she wouldn't visit with him.  She would leave the baby and split for a few hours, returning to pick her up before leaving again.  He never understood why she was suddenly uninterested in seeing him.  

As Donovan sat staring at the manila envelope, at the divorce decree shoved so carelessly into his face, he realized that his last visit with Stasia had only been two days ago.  At that time, Remy seemed to be her normal self.  She hadn't hinted that she wanted to end it.  Then again, she hadn't necessarily thrown her arms around him and begged him to come back, either.  He didn't understand the push for the divorce.  She had plainly stated that she didn't want their marriage to end, she just needed time.  Lo and behold, she had suddenly decided she could no longer stand to be married to him.  It hurt.  The more he thought about it, the worse the pain grew.  

He glanced up at the clock and noted that the team wouldn't arrive for a few more minutes.  He had just enough time to call her.  Sighing heavily, expecting another argument, he dialed the number to her sister's apartment.  Remy had moved in with Renata.  The phone rang seven times, and he was about to slam it down when it was answered.

"Hello," Renata chirped irritatingly.

He didn't understand how two sisters could be so different in temperament.  Renata was sweet, but she tended to get on his nerves without trying.  "It's Frank, Renata.  Is Remy there?"

"Uh," she muttered.

Donovan recognized the tone.  It usually meant that Remy was there, but didn't want to speak to him.  She had used that ploy a dozen times during their separation.  "Please, Renata," he said.  "I know she's there.  I need to speak to her."

Before Donovan could blink, Remy apparently picked up an extension in the other room.  In the background, he could hear their daughter babbling excitedly.  "What is it?"

_What?  No 'hello?'  No 'how are you?'  No 'did you get the divorce papers?'  _"Remy, I just received divorce papers today.  What are you doing?  I didn't think you wanted to take it this far.  I thought we were going to work it out."

She sighed.  That sound irritated him more than Renata's chirping voice.  "Frank, we can't kid ourselves anymore.  It's over.  Don't fight me, please?  Just sign the papers.  Don't drag this into court.  I don't want to go to court."

He nearly yelled at her.  His head was thumping sickly.  What the fuck was she thinking?  He loved her for fuck's sake, and she wanted to dissolve their marriage.  What about their daughter?  What would this do to her?  "Remy, what happened?  Why didn't you discuss this with me the last time you saw me?"

"Because I knew you would do this, Frank.  Sign the papers, please.  Let's make this split amicable.  I don't want to fight with you anymore.  If you're worried about Frankie [Donovan cringed], don't.  You will always be near her."

"I'm not giving up that easily, Remy.  I _refuse_ to sign any damn thing.  If you want to dissolve our marriage, you can take me to fucking court."  Savagely, he ripped up the papers and tossed them into the wastebasket.  "You hear that?  That's what I think of your fucking divorce papers."

"Frank, please don't do this.  It's hard enough as it is," she said with a sad sigh.

"You haven't seen hard.  I won't grant you a divorce without a fight.  I don't give up easily, you should have learned that by now."  He hung up without further word to her.

He buried his face into his hands.  Goddamn her.  He looked up only when he heard voices wafting up from downstairs.  It was the team.  He had to get into full 'boss mode.'  He had to shrug away the shit and get his mind focused on work again.  They were to receive a new case, a priority case, and he needed to be focused.  He couldn't allow Remy to mess him up.  _Impossible, it's too late for that.  _                        


	2. Not The CIA Again

NOT THE CIA _AGAIN_

Jonella Paxton hadn't been in Chicago in a few years.  If the truth were known, she actually didn't miss it.  In the wintertime, it was dreary and colder than a well digger's ass.  During the summer, the city streets radiated sickening heat.  There was nothing 'go between' about the city at all, and she thought that's what she hated about it the most.  She checked her wristwatch and griped under her breath when she realized she was fifteen minutes late for her meeting with the lead operative.  She had been sent on a special assignment, and she wasn't looking forward to it.  She had decided that this would be her last year with the agency.  She couldn't take it anymore.  _You're tougher than you think, Pax_, a fellow op had told her once.  _You have a cold streak in you and that will take you far_.  Of course, the op who had shared his 'wisdom' was now heading up a team of undercover agents.  He was colder than she could ever be in three lifetimes.  What did he know about her anyway?  Hadn't they worked together a very short time?  However, in that short span of time, they had literally been together day and night.  Nothing 'romantic' had ever happened between them.  She could care less about the fuck, and she wasn't 'prim' enough for him.  She wasn't excited at the prospect of seeing the fucker again.  He had never been anything less than a thorn in her side the entire time she had known him.  When she had been taken off the assignment with the dipshit, she hadn't seen him since.  Fare thee the fuck well.  

As she cursed downtown traffic, flipping off another motorist in the process, she wondered how she would approach Frank Donovan.  He wasn't a stupid man.  He wasn't even _close_ to stupid.  He knew her well enough to notice every ounce of bullshit in her.  He had detected it more than a few times before.  If anything, his senses would be sharper.  He had gone through a lot since leaving the agency.  She shuddered when she recalled how Frankie had gone nutso when offered the same assignment that she had had since day one.  She and Frankie were fairly buddy-buddy, but he had no real idea what she had been trained to do.  Basically, while on their assignment together, she had two roles to play where he had one.  Frankie's intelligence almost became the ruination of her.  He was suspicious when his partner had begun to disappear for hours at a time, only to return as if she had gone out for nothing more than a pack of cigarettes.  He also noticed the sheer coincidences that occurred at the same time as her little ventures out into the world.  Ten or so top Colombian bigwigs had begun to disappear mysteriously.  These little bad boys were funneling money to every terrorist in the country, and they would come up missing right before the other ops could move in on them.  Gee, what a nice fucking cowinkydink.  _You have a foul mouth_, Frankie had scolded.  _Fuck you, dude.  I say what I want when I want_.  Her fellow ops wanted to capture these folks alive, because more than one of them had plans to assassinate the president of the good ol' U S of A.  Perhaps torture would trip them up, make them spill their yellow guts.  Of course, she had ensured that their yellow guts spilled…literally.

One evening, she had gotten a call from her 'other' lead op who had a big job for her to do.  She jumped at the chance to take it.  Back then, she was a bit on the ruthless side.  _A bit?  You really like to lie to yourself, don't you?_  Fuck off, Frankie.  _Why is my little voice always __him_?  She went out, telling her partner that she needed an adult beverage, and he waved her off as if he didn't give a fuck.  He probably didn't.  Frankie was like that where she was concerned.  She didn't realize that Frankie decided to tail her.  She was trained enough where she should have noticed that someone was following her.  However, she had fallen asleep at the wheel.  Years later, she told herself that she had _wanted_ the Dono-Man to follow her, to discover her juicy secret.  She met with the lead op at a deserted restaurant in the heart of the city, and he gave her the directives that would lead to a successful mission.  Or so she thought.  

Jonella went to the location in which she was directed and found a difficult task ahead of her.  What bigwig would be caught dead in this place?  She stood in a deserted slaughterhouse.  She wasn't sure what animals had met their doom here, but the big hooks hanging from the ceiling freaked her out in a big way.  She had nowhere to hide and wasn't certain where she would go until she tripped over a fucking door handle in the floor.  Cursing silently under her breath, she yanked on the handle [the door came open with an aged _screeeeeech_]and saw it had hidden a short set of steps that led down into a deep crawlspace under the building.  There wasn't enough room to stand up, but she could draw her body into a tight crouch and squeeze off a good shot or six.  It would work fine, wouldn't it?  Oh yeah.  She wasn't afraid of much in life, but confinement didn't thrill her.  She did it, though, because she never went against direct orders.  She darted down into the crawlspace and yanked at the handle on the other side of the door and closed it over her.  Walking like a duck and looking like a dork, she moved around until she spotted a knothole in the floor above.  Oh, her luck was holding out beautifully tonight.  However, she began to curse herself.  _You fucking idiot_, she thought.  How was she supposed to shoot someone in her position unless the guy happened to stand right over her?  Sighing, she duck walked back to the door and flopped it back impatiently.  _Well, what do you know_, she had called out.  Frankie had found her.  After an intense shouting match [she had thrown a couple of punches, and the fucker threw them back], she told the Dono-Man to fuck off, that she had a mission to complete, and if he didn't want a bullet up his ass, he would leave her.  It was then and _only_ then that he had acted as if he _liked_ her [_don't lift your eyebrows, folks, he didn't __like me__ like me_].  They were professionals, for fuck's sake, and Frankie stood arguing with her as if they were fighting over who would pay the check after a particularly sucky dinner date.

_If you fucking mess this up for me, I'm going to kill you, Frankie_, she had cried.  _Two sides, Pax.  What are you trying to prove,_ he had shouted in reply.  _Two sides my sweet fat ass!  We're working on the same team, aren't we?_  Were they?  Were they _really_?  Dono-Man wasn't an idiot, he knew the CIA had trained assassins, and most of them did the dirtiest work known to man.  They lived on the fringe of the agency and were highly guarded.  Hardly anyone knew they existed, even the fucking president of the U S of A.  _Plausible deniability, Pax_, the director was fond of saying.  How fucking apt, eh?  The director was the same genius that funneled millions of dollars into Area 51.  What a fucking dumb ass.  Shit.  Off track again.  She went back to screaming at Frankie, demanding that he take his skinny, lanky ass back to camp and let her do what she had been directed to do.  The stubborn jerk off refused.  At gunpoint, at _fucking_ gunpoint, he told her that if she didn't follow him back to camp, he would take her into custody.  Who the hell did he think he was anyway?  God?  He was nothing more than an arrogant prick who thought he was destined to be the next J. Edgar Hoover [cross-dresser and all].  Almost as stubborn as Frankie, she refused again.  She had been ordered to put three bullets into Nando Canessa, a putrid fuck who wanted to take out the entire Colombian government, and she damn well intended to do it.  Frankie [who was every bit the putrid fuck himself] put one bullet in each of her legs.  She wondered how the brain would explain this?  He then threw her over his shoulder and carried her back to the waiting military jeep.  There would no assassinations on his watch.  Oh, how she hated Frankie.  How she hated failing at a mission.  

_Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck_, she had screamed at Frankie.  _You shot me, you prick, and fucked up the hit.  Goddamn, if I could raise my gun, I'd blow a hole between your eyes_!  What did he do?  What the fuck did he do?  He laughed at her, laughed at her pain and anger.  Oh yeah.  Frankie was fucked.  Uh huh.  As soon as she healed, she was going to stomp his arrogant ass into the ground.  She could do it, too.  She had whipped his ass a couple of times.  _Pax, what are you doing?  You want the life of an assassin?  Is that what you wanted to do with your life_, Frankie had asked, slipping back into 'serious mode.'  She hated the fucker, but she also respected him.  He never failed to make sense, even when she didn't want him to, and tonight was one of those times.  She lay there bleeding, and he was preaching at her, moralizing.  How funny.  A ruthless fuck such as he was giving _her_ a sermon.  _Get me to a hospital, Frankie, before I bleed to death.  If I die tonight, I'm coming back to haunt your ass, and I will haunt you for the rest of your life_, she had said calmly.  Of course, he knew she would.  _By the way_, he had added as an afterthought, _don't call me Frankie, I detest it_.  _Well, fuck you, Mister_.  She would call him any damn thing she liked.  He had taken her to the hospital and actually sat with her throughout the bullet removal ordeal.  The anesthetic shots had hurt like fuck, and she was tempted to advise the doctor to neuter Frankie for her while he was there.  War baby, oh yeah, war on Dono-Man.

The morning after the bullets were yanked from her, her 'other' lead op came to her room and demanded an explanation.  At the time, Frankie had gone for food and coffee, and she was relatively unguarded.  She had heard that occasionally, if an op failed, he or she might get a permanent and eternal vacation.  However, she had made up this ridiculous story of being shot before she even made it to the hideout.  _Yeah, crossfire, that's what happened, Bossman.  It was the weirdest thing_.  He didn't believe her, of course.  Yet, he couldn't really do anything about it.  Sitting right there in the hospital, she had been given an exclusive assignment.  Like the trooper she was, she took it.  Bossman left just before Frankie showed up with a mug of black coffee for her.  _Aw, Spankie [what she called him when she was in a particularly good mood…he hated it more than Frankie], you brought me a present!  _Not so kindly, he told her to shut up.  She thought she saw a blush creeping up his neck.  She had actually made the cold fuck blush.  How dainty.  Frankie had tried to secure a promise from her that she would back out of the assassin game.  _What assassin game_, she had asked.  She could neither confirm nor deny it.  It didn't matter that he had seen her, but still, blurting out one's status was severely frowned upon.  Whatever.  She couldn't make a promise and mean it.  With a set of mentally crossed fingers, she swore to Frankie that she would never take another life unless he/she/it deserved it.

Three days later, Jonella was on crutches.  She had no intention of staying in that fucking bed another day.  The pain was incredible, but she didn't care.  She had to get out, to do her job.  She had to make it up to the upper brass before they sent an assassin to take _her_ out.  Her partner came to her as often as he could to monitor her progress and report it to their superiors.  Eventually, she would be released from the Colombian hospital and return to the beauty of the South American jungle.  Oh joy.  What was worse?  The torture device in physical therapy or a humid stroll in the jungle?  What to choose, what to choose!  Whatever.  Frankie's presence annoyed her.  She didn't want to admit it, but the arrogant fuck was persuasive.  He about had her talked out of returning.  She couldn't believe it.  Three days ago, her mind had been made up.  _Fuck Dono-Man; get me back on the streets_.  On that day, she was fucked up and confused.  It didn't matter.  She was a reasonable girl; she had morals, and stick-to-itiveness.  She wouldn't let the pushy fuck tell her what to do.  After all, he wasn't her father, now was he?  Of course, Frankie had been around, he had deeper, darker secrets that would probably never see the light of day [unless he pissed her off enough to tattle], and maybe…just maybe he might know what he was talking about.  Then again, he wasn't nearly as obsessive as she.  Once given a job to do, she did it.  It was no different this time.  Was it?  _Was it_?  Yuck.  

Upon Jonella's release from the hospital, Frankie came to pick her up.  She didn't know if she were grateful or hateful.  It didn't matter.  She had been told a couple of days before her release that she would be transferred out of South America and sent to the states.  Her lead op wanted to send her to D.C. for further training.  Of course, that wouldn't take place until after her mission in Colombia.  Instead of taking her back to camp, Frankie took her to headquarters.  Aw.  How sweet.  The Dono-Man was worried about her and didn't want her sleeping on the hard ground.  How utterly fucking chivalrous.  Actually, she didn't mind.  Lying on a cot was much better than the fucking jungle and getting eaten alive by every blood-sucking bug ever created.  _Mosquito netting doesn't work, folks._  Then again, sleeping away from Frankie for a change would give her an opportunity to slip away for her night moves.  He would never know, and when he found out, she would be long gone.  She wondered if ol' Frankie had read her mind, if he knew she had lied.  It didn't matter.  Soon enough, she would never see Frankie again.  Was she happy about that?  Naw.  She actually had grown to _tolerate_ the fuck.  Besides, he could make awesome coffee.  That talent alone made him A-okay in her book.  That night, Jonella slipped out and took care of her mission.  The next morning, she was gone.

Jonella sighed.  It had been a while since she had thought of ol' Frankie.  If she didn't have to face him some time today, she probably wouldn't have thought of him ever again.  He was a fairly easy man to forget.  He had so many bugs up his ass that he chirped like a cricket when he walked.  Yet today, she would face him and she knew he was aware of what happened to her.  She had gone on with her assassin role and had taken out more people than she cared to remember.  Her role today would be one of someone leaving the game.  _Can we say irony_?  It was exactly what she would do if she could just get these last hits done.  She pulled the car into the parking lot of what appeared to be a vacant warehouse.  _Do they always have to pick such cliché locations for clandestine meetings_?  She nearly giggled, but didn't.  She didn't want the gang to think that she had lost her mind.  Sometimes, she felt as if she had.  She was just barely thirty, but suddenly felt sixty.  _Granny Jonella, that's me_.  

*  *  *

_Oh God_, Donovan groaned.  _Please tell me I'm not looking at what I think I am_.  He hadn't seen the name Jonella Paxton since he left the CIA.  When he saw her last, she was sprawled out on a cot with banged up legs.  He had known she went on to accomplish whatever covert deed assassins were given.  He didn't know much about the gig, and honestly didn't care.  It had been offered to him in the deepest jungles of South America, and he had almost choked on his coffee.  Assassins were the most guarded ops in the field, but they were also the most expendable, especially if they weren't any good, or had made mistakes.  Pax had been a walking mistake.  She was ruthless enough, sure, but unlike most of them, she wasn't a machine.  She had acted appropriately, but she didn't have enough control.  She had always been a loose cannon, and he was surprised she had lived this long.  He stared down at the file handed to him by central.  How many times had he said he didn't enjoy working with the CIA?  It brought about too many memories best left in the past.  Pax was the past, a ghost he had put to rest years ago.  Yet, she would show up at any time, probably screwing up everything she touched.  _Paxton will be phased out as an AOP_.  He had been told this directly, but he didn't believe it.  She had lied to him then, and wouldn't hesitate to lie to him now.  If she were lying [and he knew she was], he would not only shoot her again, but also strangle her just for the sheer pleasure it would give him.  Jonella Paxton had buried herself into his skin like some kind of gigantic burr.

_Speaking of burrs_, Donovan thought as he peered down at his electronic organizer.  He had an appointment with his attorney late this afternoon.  After weeks of fighting, screaming, and crying, he and Remy had come to a mutual agreement regarding the divorce.  He had finally relented.  Holding out was only delaying the inevitable.  Remy wouldn't budge an inch, and she didn't mind fighting for something she wanted.  Of course, Donovan had no trouble doing that, either.  However, the longer he fought against the divorce, the further away she drifted.  This evening, both attorneys would sit down with him and Remy and hammer out everything before their marriage was dissolved.  He was still shocked that it gotten so bad so quickly.  His only saving grace was Stasia.  His daughter kept him sane, kept it all so real.  Whenever he felt like yelling at Remy, he would focus his eyes on his daughter, and center himself.  Right now, she was the one person who mattered most.

"Boss," Cody yelled.  "I think you need to see this!"

_What now_, he thought, rolling his eyes.  Donovan left his office and sauntered casually downstairs.  He soon understood what Cody had been yelling about.  Jonella fucking Paxton.  She hadn't changed much.  She was tall and very thin, but not bony.  To any other person, she would seem fragile.  However, there was strength in her thin limbs, and she had kicked his ass more than once.  Her ash blonde hair, which she had kept cropped brutally short back in the day, now flowed over her shoulders in a thick cascade.  Her dark blue eyes held intelligence, mirth, and a hint of mischievousness.  Her delicate boned oval face still held the same defined cheekbones, small nose, and full lips.  He nearly laughed when he stared at that button of a nose.  It was slightly crooked where he had broken it [strictly by accident] during a training exercise.  Cody had yelled about her because of her outfit.  She looked like a cross between a Ninja street fighter and a beatnik.  From head to foot, she was draped in black and had even donned a long black leather trench coat.  Already naturally tall, her spiky heeled boots gave her three or four extra inches.  When they were grudging partners, she had worn similar boots, and the damn bitch could flat out run in them.  _Goddamn_, he thought.  She was the same irritating thorn digging into his side, needling him.

Jonella fixed her eyes on Frankie Boy.  She mused [as he did] that he hadn't changed much.  Dono-Man was still tall, less thin, still lanky, and stiff as a poker.  His black hair was almost spiky short with a smattering of gray at the temples.  _Ohhh, Frankie, time for some Ms. Clairol_.  He had grown a goatee and she nearly giggled at the ridiculous facial hair.  She had never known him to go five minutes without putting an electric razor to his face.  He haired up relatively fast and whined when he couldn't shave.  She also noticed that he had yet to get plastic surgery to correct that lip defect of his.  Oh, and those ears.  _Gawd almighty, pin them back…pin them waaaaaaaaay back_.  With all his money, he could afford to fix his flaws.  He stood with his arms crossed stubbornly over his chest.  He was decked out in dark slacks, an equally dark sweater, and had on a shoulder holster, as if he were Steve fucking McQueen.  She also saw another distinguishing feature.  He was wearing a wedding ring.  _He finally found someone desperate enough to marry him_, she thought.

"Frankie, I missed you so," she said with a smarmy grin on her lips.

He laughed a trifle bitterly.  He was tempted to break her nose again.  "Wish I could say the same, Pax.  You never change."

"Aw, Fwankie don't like me no more," she said in an irritating 'baby' voice.

"Did I _ever_ like you," he asked.

"Nope.  Did I ever care?  Nope."  She walked past him, knocking him down with her cloying perfume, and approached the conference table.  She glanced back at Donovan and waited patiently.  "So, Frankie, are we going to get down to it, or would you rather goggle at me with those sexy brown eyes of yours."  

She removed her coat, revealing a tight turtleneck sweater underneath.  She pulled out a chair and dramatically lowered herself into it.  Donovan shook his head.  She had no shame about her at all.  It seemed as if they had picked up right where they left off.  "Take off your coat, Pax, and make yourself at home," he said.

The other agents in the room were a bit perplexed.  They hadn't seen Donovan acting so…jovial.  Was that description even appropriate?  Anyway, he was behaving in a totally different way than they had ever experienced.

She looked up at him and smiled brilliantly.  "Thanks, Frankie.  Got coffee?"

Without a word, Donovan moved to the coffeemaker to pour her a cup.  Before he turned around he said, "Oh, I don't allow anyone to smoke in here," he said.

He turned toward her and handed her the cup.  She sighed.  "I might have been offended by that if I hadn't quit a couple of years ago."  She took a sip and rolled her eyes as if in the throes of a mind-bending orgasm.  "Goddamn, Frankie, you haven't lost your touch."  She set her cup down and crossed her hands before her.  "Can we get on with this, please?  I have a pedicure at three today."

Donovan called over the rest of the team and they joined them at the conference table.  With a captive audience, Jonella performed to the hilt.  Every now and then, Donovan would glance at her, not believing that he was working with this woman again.  He hoped they could trust her.


	3. Meetings Of The Minds

MEETINGS OF THE MINDS

Griping under his breath, Donovan charged up the stairs of the law office.  He was running excruciatingly late, and he was certain that both attorneys and his wife [_ex-wife_] were losing their patience.  Pax had held them captive for over three goddamn hours.  He tried to tell the team not to let her drag them into her long-winded stories.  They honestly didn't have time for it.  _Come on Pax, focus_, Donovan had scolded.  _Let's work this out; I have an appointment at five_.  She had laughed heartily over that one.  _What?  Are you getting your hair done_?  After fixing her with one of his patented glares, she stopped regaling the group with her tall tales and finally became serious [for the moment].  She went over her story carefully, giving explicit detail.  She claimed to have left the agency's AOP squad because they had intentions to assassinate a couple of trouble making politicians that were vocally protesting the president.  Her story made little sense to Donovan, and he wondered what her game really was.  However, he could not go into it with her in the presence of his team.  He would delve into these matters alone with her.  It was something best kept away from the team.  He would meet Pax later and find out what the real deal was.  Anyway, Pax said she was the op assigned to the hit, and she was sent to the team to get their assistance in preventing it from happening.  It was a rogue hit, and she denied that she was a rogue.  _She's bullshitting us_, Donovan had thought more than once.  He didn't trust her anymore.  In fact, he had _never_ truly trusted her at all, even back in the day.  

When they were partners, he slept with one eye open, because he never knew what was going on inside her from hour to hour.  In the time he had worked with her, he might have gotten two hours sleep total.  Although not much younger than Donovan, he felt protective [in a way] toward Pax.  She had massive potential but a shitty personality, and she didn't care what or whom she hurt to get her way.  Yet, she was wild and needed guidance.  Time and time again, he had watched as the upper brass took advantage of her.  If anyone threw a bone her way, she grabbed it and ran.  When the AOP leader had approached him, he had gotten ill at the thought of becoming part of the assassination squad.  He knew Pax would be approached next, and he wasn't sure if she would have the guts to turn it down.  She didn't.  It was unfortunate.  Of course, Pax didn't ever admit her role, she couldn't, but Donovan wasn't stupid.  He had been around long enough to notice the signs.  It was a role he had never wanted to see her take.  Pax was Pax.  She would damn well do whatever the hell she wanted, regardless of who she hurt along the way, even if it meant betraying her own squad [which she had done numerous times].  Of course, to prove that she was a CIA Death Angel, he had followed her and realized his worst fear.  If word got around, he wouldn't doubt that she could be brought up on charges of treason.  The agency didn't protect its assassins from much internally.  It shielded them from the law of the land, but not from itself.

Donovan hadn't thought much about Pax after he saw her last, but he often wondered how she had gone down.  He was surprised to learn that she hadn't gone down at all.  He didn't know how he felt about that.  He thought of his checkered CIA past and shivered.  He couldn't imagine what all the cold bitch had seen, what she had experienced.  After the endless power meeting, Donovan had walked away.  There was no time for idle chitchat or a CIA class reunion.  Pax had left her contact information, and if he wanted to speak to her, he knew where to find her.  At first, the thought of speaking to her further was nothing short of _unsavory_, but then again, it might also be _interesting_.  He found himself wanting to dig into Pax, to find out what was really going through her fucked up brain.  Of course, he had enough clearance to find anything he wanted with regard to her, but he knew that if the CIA wanted to hide her, they could.  They had certainly _hidden_ him.  She wouldn't simply give over to him no matter what he said or did.  He could shoot her, break her nose, break her arm or whatever, but she would still refuse him.  She was irritating like that.  She took great pleasure in fucking with his mind.  

Upon first meeting her, he had felt instant disgust and dislike.  She was the foulest, crudest, ugliest, harshest bitch he had ever met.  From day one, they had literally picked at each other like vultures fighting over a carcass.  He wasn't sure what the icebreaker had been, but he thought it happened on a night when they had both gotten completely plastered to the wall.  Donovan wasn't much of a heavy drinker; he was more of a social one.  Pax drank like a fucking fish [_God, being around her has tweaked my dirty language switch_], but never seemed to get a hangover.  They were at camp after a particularly vicious assault, and she had gone directly for the booze.  She drank deeply from her flask and offered it to him.  He balked at first.  He had no intention of getting drunk on such a horridly humid night.  _What are you?  Pussy?_  He gaped at her incredulously.  _Pussy?  Give me the damn thing_.  She had handed over the flask, and feeling the need to prove himself, he turned it up and drank deeply.  _Oh my damn.  Vodka_.  He hated vodka.  Every time he drank it, it got him in trouble.  Regardless of that, he would not let her insult stand and he drank it anyway.  Both of them became increasingly goofy.  God forbid if they had to go out like this.  The upper brass would have their asses on a platter.  By some miracle, they weren't called out, and both kept drinking and drinking.  Every now and then, she refilled the flask directly from a bottle that she kept carefully packed away.  Eventually, she tossed the flask aside.  _Fuck it.  Let's take it from the bottle_.  Of course, he couldn't be outdone.

After an hour or so, they were both so inebriated that neither of them could sit up on their own.  _I like you better when you're drunk_, Donovan had said.  _Maybe I should just stay drunk for the rest of my fucking life.  Huh?_  It had been a bizarrely strange evening.  Booze tended to loosen up Pax and she began to spill the beans about her life.  She told him everything, including a fascinating story of her wild childhood that included stints in foster care, detention centers, and various county lockups in her hometown of Boston, Oklahoma.  Donovan wasn't sure what was fiction and what was fact.  His lips loosened as well, and he began telling her about his life, his failed ambitions, and his current lifestyle.  Pax had listened raptly, drinking deeply from the vodka bottle every few seconds.  They had a few things in common here and there, and he decided that for a bluntly crude bitch, she wasn't half bad.  Pax had thought something similar, of course, but he hadn't been able to read her mind.  

By the time the vodka bottle was three quarters of the way empty, the humidity, coupled with the booze, had made the heat literally unbearable.  Sweat rolled off Pax's body in rivers.  Of course, Donovan was sweating profusely as well.  _I can't stand to be hot and sticky.  This shit is killing me_, she had suddenly announced.  Donovan, reeling by now, watched as Pax straightened out her legs and leaned back as far as she could.  Was he actually so drunk he was hallucinating or was this crazy ass bitch taking off her clothes?  With his mouth wide open, Donovan watched as Pax stripped out of everything but her bra and panties.  The body underneath the clothing was nothing like the body outside it.  Although thin, it was relatively toned and not the least bit as delicate as it seemed.  He had never met anyone like her before.  She was a fucking nut.  She sat up, crossed her legs, and ran her hands through her short hair.  _Much better_, she exclaimed.  Donovan couldn't believe his eyes.  Scarily enough, he found them roving all over her, checking her out.  _Oh God, no, don't even go there_.  Pax looked up at him and smiled her crooked assed smile.  She reached around to unhook her bra and Donovan shook his head.  _Okay, this is enough for me.  I'm out of here, Pax_.  She had laughed like a lunatic.  _Don't go, Frankie.  I was just fucking around with you.  I'm not going to go totally raw.  But I saw you looking!_  Oh, the horror, the terrible, terrible horror.  The sick thing was, he _had_ been looking.  _Uh uh, no way_.  _Put on your damn clothes, Pax, please_.  She had then reached over and tweaked his nose [**_tweaked_**_ his fucking nose_].  _I showed you mine, show me yours_, she had called sweetly.  _You're fucking cracked, Pax_, he had declared prudishly and attempted to leave her.  He didn't get far.  He tripped over something in the dark and fell flat on his face.  Humiliated, he lay against the ground and listened to Pax laughing in his wake.  After a moment, he began laughing.  He would lie there throughout all eternity and wait for the vodka to release its hold on him.  Yes.  That's exactly what he would do.

A few moments later, he had felt Pax's hands on his arms, helping him to his feet.  Oh God.  He started laughing again when he realized that she had come out in the open just wearing her undies.  The image was much too hilarious to ignore, and he fell flat on his ass again.  When she leaned over him to help him up, his eyes focused on a small tattoo resting between her small breasts.  It was the figure of a sword entwined with ivy.  _Goddamn, that must have hurt like a son-of-a-bitch_. Crazily, he wanted to touch the tattoo, to connect some reality with this unreal night.  _Come on, Frankie, you gotta sleep this off_.  Nope.  He hadn't wanted to sleep.  He wanted to touch the tattoo, and he wouldn't go to sleep until he did.  He had reached out for her, and she thought he wanted to grab her hand to help get his lanky ass to his feet, but he had other ideas.  _Oh shit_, she had spat.  _Frankie's a touchy feely drunk_.  With jerky, drunken movements, his hand went to the tattoo and he ran his finger over it.  Duh.  What had he thought he would feel?  The sword?  Stupid, stupid.  It was just skin after all.  She had rolled her eyes and helped him to his feet.  She had barely gotten him inside when he passed out in her arms.  Of course, she wasn't prepared to support his weight and hers combined, and she fell on her ass with Donovan literally on top of her.  When he awoke the next morning, his head was nestled between her thighs.  _What the fuck_, he thought as he rose up.  He was fully clothed, but she was in her underwear.  His head had ached miserably.  He could remember nothing.  Pax awakened moments later, and continuing with the head games, she had asked, _was it good for you_?

Pax hadn't let him off the hook for nearly a week.  He was so angry, he didn't know whether to laugh it off and forget it or beat the living shit out of her.  He chose the former, but preferred the latter.  From that day forward, Donovan avoided vodka like the plague, especially when around Pax.  After that, he and Pax had come to some kind of grudging understanding.  They had a regular love/hate relationship as partners, fought like hell at times, but they had begun to count on each other tremendously.  _Damn_, Donovan thought, _that was one hell of an icebreaker_.  Although neither of them had admitted it, they respected each other and were loyal, but they had their moments.  When he discovered her double life, he had been worried more than angered, and shooting her had been the only way he could control her, but then she had run off anyway.  Now she was back.  Back for more.  _Please Pax, don't play anymore damn games.  Not now.  Not this late in the game_.

Distracted by his reflection of the past, he missed the floor he needed and the elevator continued onward.  He grumbled incoherently and viciously stabbed the button again.  If it had still been business hours, he might have had to wait fifteen minutes or more to get back to his floor.  He could imagine what was rushing through Remy's mind right about now.  _Never around during the marriage, and equally so at the end of it_.  He didn't know how he felt about seeing her today with her attorney.  Before this, they had been able to sit down and speak like civil adults.  Now, she couldn't look at him without her fucking attorney.  The elevator car stopped and the doors slid open.  Down the hall, he could hear voices carrying back toward him.  He recognized them all.  One belonged to Remy; the other two were the attorneys.  Taking a deep breath and steeling himself [_please God don't let me start screaming at her_], he strolled casually toward the office so as not to give away the pain rushing through him.

Remy sat at the very end of the conference table discussing something with her attorney in hushed tones.  Donovan's was sitting on the opposite side of the table, making notes and trying to eavesdrop on his wife's [_ex-wife's_] conversation with her legal counsel.  _Since when can two adults **not** speak to each other without hired help listening in_?  When Remy noticed him, her violet eyes were fixed stonily on his face.  Her expression spoke volumes to him.  She didn't need to say a word, and she probably wouldn't, not unless forced.  He kept his eyes on hers the entire time he was approaching the table and when he chose a chair to sit in.  He ached to sit beside her, to speak to her one-on-one.  When had they just sat down together and talked?  Sadly enough, he couldn't remember.  He tore his eyes off hers and focused them on her hands as she reached for a glass of water.  For a moment, he wasn't sure what had drawn his eyes to her hand, and it took him a while to make the connection.  He was staring at her left hand wonderingly.  Something was amiss, something important.  _Wake up, you dumb ass_, he thought.  She wasn't wearing her wedding ring.  She had discarded it as easily as she had discarded him.  His annoyance quickly turned to anger, and his anger to devastation.  What other proof did he need that his marriage was finally over?  Apparently, she had given up long before he had.  Suddenly, he felt embarrassed to still have his ring on, and he wished he had taken it off as well.  Goddamn he didn't think it would hurt so much, but it did.  Her bare finger was the worst vision he had ever beheld in his life.  From the look of it, she hadn't worn it in a while.  There was no tan line.  He would not give her the satisfaction of knowing that he was devastated.  He would fight it, fight it and win.  He could get through almost every situation with a poker face.  This would be no different.

"Do you realize what time it is," Remy asked suddenly.  "We've been waiting for an hour."

He would not allow her to draw him into an argument, not here, not in front of these men.  "I'm sorry," he said evenly.  "I had a meeting.  Where is the baby?"

"I left Frankie with Renata.  I didn't want her witnessing this…discussion," she said carefully.

_Can we not just say 'fuck this,' admit we still love each other, and work this out?  Can we?  I don't want to do this_.  Remy intended to do this, if she hadn't, she wouldn't have taken off her wedding ring.  It was that sight, and that alone, which forced him to agree with every single term in the settlement.  Remy didn't want much; she simply wanted their union dissolved.  He had liberal visitation with his daughter, and he couldn't argue that, either.  However, his heart fought furiously against giving in so soon.  He wanted it taken to court, drawn out as long as it took, as long it would take to give him time to convince her to give their marriage a second chance.  He watched as the papers were slid his way after Remy signed.  He noticed that she had signed them without the slightest hesitation.  He was tempted to ask if she even loved him anymore.  If he could see her eyes, he would have his answer.  Her eyes told truths her lips never could.  However, she wouldn't look at him, and he considered that something of a good sign.  He stared down at the papers, wanting to hold out signing for as long as he could.  He pretended to read every word, as if he didn't trust her.  If she could close her heart, he could as well.  In fact, he had probably invented it.  He read nothing, saw nothing.  His eyes were focused on her signature.  She had signed her name _Remy Ellis_.  She had dropped the Donovan altogether.  _Enough_, he thought.  No amount of time he spent staring down at the documents would delay the inevitable.  _Let her go.  Let her do what she needs to do.  _It wasn't like he would never see her again.  She would have to bring him their daughter, wouldn't she?  Either that, or he would go to her.  _Fuck it_, he thought.  He picked up the expensive fountain pen [paid for by all the money Donovan had stuffed in the attorney's bank account] and scrawled his name and the date.  It had taken no more than a few seconds to end a marriage that had taken months to build.

Donovan had known a few people here and there who had divorced, and most of them said that before the ink was dry, they had begun to whoop, holler, and party down.  However, the room was filled completely with silence and moroseness.  There would be no parties, no celebration.  He loved her, loved her enough to do anything in his power to get her back.  He watched grimly as the two attorneys began to banter back and forth as if they were old friends.  He shook his head incredulously as his invited hers to a local bar.  Sure, they could party.  Their bank accounts had grown significantly since they met Donovan's stubborn ass.  Donovan couldn't sit in the room any longer.  He had to get out, to get away.  He couldn't even look at his wife [_ex-wife_].  He slid back from the conference table and pocketed the fountain pen [_what the hell, **I** paid for it_].  Without glancing her way at all, Donovan turned and left the room.  

As he stood waiting for the elevator, he saw Remy coming out.  She was walking toward him.  There was really nothing more they had to say to each other.  Was there?  The missing wedding ring and dropped 'Donovan' from her last name was enough for him.  It had spoken volumes.  He chose to ignore her as he stabbed the 'down' button again.  Where was the fucking elevator?  He couldn't get out fast enough.  Before she had approached him, he turned away to find the staircase.  He had to get out of here, and get out _now_.

Her hand fell on his arm, burning him.  "Frank, wait," she said.

He'd rather slam his hand into a car door than turn around to face her.  However, he couldn't resist.  Goddamn it, he loved her.  In the violet eyes he had loved to gaze into, he saw her love for him clearly.  His heart ached fiercely.  _Why did this happen to us_?  "What is it," he said gruffly.  He wanted her to believe he had no more time for her than she did him.  

"Frank, I'm sorry this happened to us.  I don't want any animosity lingering around," she said.  "I want us to remain-"

He held up his hand defensively.  There was no way he wanted to hear her finish that sentence.  _I don't want to be your fucking friend, Remy; I want to be your fucking husband_."It's kind of hard not to feel animosity during a divorce settlement.  What do you want me to do, Remy?  Do you want me to give over as if this marriage was some kind of horrid mistake?  I won't do that; I won't _ever_ do that.  Run away," he spat bitterly, "Run like you've always done."  He shook her hand off his arm.  "If you wanted to be _friends_," he began through clenched teeth, "then you never should have fucked me."  Without another word, he turned away and strode angrily to the staircase.

*  *  *

Donovan unlocked the front door and slid into the darkened apartment.  He collapsed to the couch and leaned back.  He mumbled 'fuck it' under his breath as he propped his feet up on the coffee table.  The moment his hurtful words had come out of his mouth, he had regretted it.  He ached it take it back, but it was too late for that.  He wanted a drink, but didn't have the energy to walk across the room to get it.  He found himself gazing down at his wedding ring.  He grasped hold of it and slipped it off his finger.  Why wear it now?  It stood for nothing and meant even less than that.  He tossed it carelessly onto the table before him and listened as it clacked noisily against the wooden surface before coming to rest.  He was completely tempted to call Remy and apologize, but he decided against it.  She would only be awaiting his apology, _expecting_ it.  He would not give her what she expected.  Nope.  Not now.  He dragged his body away from the couch and made his way to the bedroom.  He fell face first onto the bed and allowed his depression to drag him to sleep.

                           


	4. Exploring Unknown Territory

EXPLORING UNKNOWN TERRITORY

Donovan managed to sleep only about an hour and a half before he came wide-awake.  It was dark outside and he glanced at the bedside clock with one eye open.  He groaned, wishing that the whole divorce settlement meeting had been a dream.  Of course, it wasn't.  His life was never that easy.  He came up off the bed, suddenly feeling the need to get out of the apartment for a bit.  He intentionally avoided the picture of Remy and Stasia on the bedside table.  He couldn't look at it right now.  He threw on a jacket and left the apartment.  He started toward the stairs, decided he had no energy for them tonight, and chose the elevator instead.  As he rode down to the lobby, a billion things ran through his mind.  He couldn't let his divorce consume him.  However, he couldn't prevent it no matter how hard he tried.  He loved Remy, would love her for the rest of his life.  When the elevator came to a jarring halt in the lobby, he stepped out of it and moved through the few people milling about.  He wasn't particularly paying attention to anything around him, and he bumped right into a woman coming toward the direction he had left.  A noise escaped her [_oof_] as she smacked into him.  Donovan stepped back and glanced at her striking mane of dark auburn hair.  He uttered a hasty apology.  The woman smiled, said it was 'okay,' and continued onward to whatever destiny awaited her.  He stood still for a moment, as if experiencing some kind of strange feeling of déjà vu.  He shook it off and went on his way.

He walked for what seemed like hours, but was probably only a few minutes.  He liked moving around at night, but sometimes it wasn't such a great idea in this neighborhood.  The apartment building was situated in a 'go-between' area that separated the ritzy neighborhood from the bad one.  It didn't matter.  He really didn't care.  He was armed and well trained.  Of course, the gun or his ability to fight wouldn't help him if he were hit by a bus or something, but he didn't think fate would be that cruel tonight.  It had already wreaked havoc with him.  How much worse could it get?  _Don't say that, bucko, or something shitty will happen_, he thought.  Right at the moment, he didn't give a ripe fuck.  Let a goddamn bus come along and smack him.  It might take care of everything.  However, he thought of his little girl.  He couldn't leave her behind, not on purpose.  Suddenly, he ached to see his daughter.  Nightfall was the worst time for him.  He enjoyed putting his daughter to bed, reading to her until her lovely violet eyes closed.  He missed holding her, hearing her calling to him when she couldn't find him [_Daaaaaayeeeee_].  Realistically, it was too far to walk to Renata's apartment from his neck of the woods.  He changed direction and moved back toward his building to the parking garage.  He wanted nothing more than to hug and kiss his daughter before she went to bed.  It had been far too long since he had done that.

*  *  *

Renata opened her door to her brother in-law [_ex-brother in-law_].  He actually looked like hell with the dark circles under his eyes and the five o'clock shadow creeping up his jaw line.  Suddenly feeling more than awkward, she had no idea what to say to him.  "I don't think Remy wants to see you right now," she said.  She actually liked her ex-brother in-law and hated that her sister divorced him.  Remy was such a dolt sometimes.

"That's fine," he said, "I'm not here to see her.  I want to see my daughter."

"Oh," she said.  "Remy is with her, getting her ready for bed."

He nodded.  Perfect timing.  Renata moved to allow Donovan to enter the apartment.  He had visited Stasia here before and was familiar with the layout.  He knew exactly where to find them.  Renata's apartment was fairly small and Stasia stayed in the same room with her mother.  The door was closed when he approached, and he pecked on it.  If Stasia happened to be asleep already, he didn't want to wake her.  Remy swung open the door, thinking it was her sister.  When she saw that it was Donovan, she was a little surprised.

"Frank, you should call first," she scolded.  She wondered vaguely if he had been drinking.  As her sister thought before her, he looked like death warmed over.

"I know, and next time, I will.  But I'd like to see Stasia, to at least help put her to bed.  I haven't seen her in several days.  Please?"

She stood back from the door and allowed Donovan to enter the room.  Stasia was already in her bed, but she wasn't asleep yet.  As he approached, she cried "Daaaaaayyyyeeeeeeee" and he nearly cried.  Her little arms were reaching for him, and he took her into his without hesitation.  She began to babble at him excitedly, speaking that special language only a two-year-old knew.  He walked over to Remy's twin-size bed and sat down with her.  Remy watched from the door, but didn't move any closer to them.  She was a little annoyed.  The baby had almost been asleep when he came in.  Of course, it was going to take forever to get her back to sleep now.  However, she was wrong.  The moment the excitement wore down a little, she began to yawn and settled herself firmly against Donovan's body.  As she valiantly fought against sleep, he gazed down into her angelic face, still overwhelmed that he had actually helped create this delicate little creature resting in his arms.  When she had completely passed out, Donovan carried her back to bed and laid her down.  He placed a gentle kiss on her forehead and brushed away a stray curl that seemed to be tickling her eye.  He had wanted this time alone with Stasia, but Remy stood against the door the entire time with her arms crossed firmly over her chest.  What was she afraid of?  Did she think he was going to run off with her?  He turned back toward Remy and noticed that her eyes were fixed on him.

He absently caressed the nape of his neck.  He thought that by sunrise, he would have one hell of a headache.  "I want her to stay with me next week," he said.  "I haven't had much time with her in the last week or so, and I miss her."

She nodded.  "Okay," she said.  "She misses you too, you know.  It's been difficult getting her to sleep at night.  She has become quite accustomed to both of us being there with her before she goes to bed."

_We could fix that, you know_.  "There will be a lot of changes for her, changes that I wish didn't have to be made."  He shook his head when he noticed Remy's body tensing up.  "I'm not trying to start an argument with you, I'm stating how it is, that's all.  She's two, very impressionable, and she'll probably never understand any of this, even when she's older.  I'm sorry I came by without calling, but I had to see her.  Would you mind moving out of the way so I can leave?"

*  *  *

Donovan let himself inside his apartment and tossed his keys on the coffee table.  Since he had seen Stasia, he was more depressed than ever before.  Once again, he plopped down on the couch and leaned back.  For reasons unknown to him, he gazed down at his appointment book resting innocently on the coffee table.  When had he thrown it down?  He couldn't remember.  How bizarre.  He hadn't recalled bringing it home at all.  He normally left it in his office, because things had a way of disappearing with a two-year-old in the apartment.  Of course lately, there had been no two-year-old.  He sighed.  He had to stop torturing himself.  He sat up on the edge of the couch and reached for the book.  He didn't quite understand the sudden interest in the damn thing.  Absently, he began thumbing through it, checking out some notes he had scribbled here and there.  When he flipped the pages over to the present date, he finally understood what had attracted his attention.  He smiled a little and shook his head.  He was staring down at Pax's phone number at some ritzy hotel the CIA had secured for her.  He couldn't sleep, couldn't get his mind off his daughter or the damn divorce.  Donovan wanted to pick the op's brain, feel her out a little, and tonight might be the perfect time for it.  As he stared down at the number, he wondered if she would be in.  _Of course, she's in.  Have you ever known her to go out?_  Nope.  Then again, it was a little hard to date someone when stationed in the middle of the goddamn jungle.  However, Pax had never shown an interest in the opposite sex, had she?  _Ack_.  He had never thought of her in _that_ way.  He didn't feel comfortable thinking of her sleeping with someone, either.  The thought was almost too horrible to comprehend.  Donovan shuddered a little and continued to stare down at the number.  He could either call or not.  What was so hard about that?  

*  *  *

The doorbell rang and Donovan opened it to Pax.  She hadn't been in town for a few years, but she had no trouble finding his place.  Amused, he watched as she entered the apartment, seemingly appraising it.  He noted that she was wearing skintight black denim jeans with an absurdly oversized cowl neck sweater.  Her damnable spike heeled boots completed the outfit.  Her taste in clothing had never changed.  He still wasn't used to the long hair and wondered what possessed her to grow it out.  Pax walked around the living room, picking up knick-knacks, assessing them, and then replacing them back into their rightful places.  She had never thought of Frankie as a collector of kitsch.  Of course, she had also never been inside his residence before, either.  _What a nosy bitch_, he thought, annoyed.  She had to touch everything.  A couple of times, Donovan had tried to steer her toward the couch, but she hadn't gotten the pilfering bug out of her system.  

Actually, Pax was fascinated with Frankie's humble domicile.  She kept looking over her shoulder for the little woman.  She wanted to take a gander at the broad desperate enough to take Frankie as her husband.  This was one lady she'd like to see, oh yes indeedy.  How a woman could kiss him was beyond her.  Yuck City.  The fucker was probably lousy in bed, too.  She turned and fixed her eyes on Frankie.  When she had been partnered with him, one of the dingy secretaries in the central office had had the hots big time for the dork.  Every time he walked by, she nearly creamed her jeans.  Of course, Frankie didn't know she existed.  At the time, he was seeing some bimbo back home, and was 'devoted' to her.  She never asked about Frankie's love life, because the thought of him in bed with _anybody _sickened her.  When she visualized him naked, she'd die laughing.  Any old ho, this ditz went on and on about how 'sexy' she thought he was.  _Oh, I'd love to be his underwear.  I'd love to be the condom on his erection_.  Oh sick, sick.  She had been tempted to pistol-whip the idiot.  As she stood staring at the fuck, she wondered what so many women found so sexy about him?  She didn't get it.  The only thing remotely 'nice' about him was his eyes, and even that wasn't enough to fuck him.  She laughed a little and shook her head.  Frankie was staring at her with his faboo 'whafuck' look.  _Nope, I'm not insane **yet**_, she thought.

"Sorry, Frankie, I was just thinking about the past.  Wow.  Was I surprised to get a call from you!  A personal invite to Spankie's place.  I've just got the vapors, Spankie, the fucking vapors!  Speaking of the vapors.  Do you remember that secretary at HQ?  What was her name?  Diana?  Sabrina?  Ditzy?  She had the hots for you," she said with a laugh.  "I wonder if she still works there?  Wouldn't she just _die_ to see _me_ here."

"Pax, what the fuck are you talking about," he spat.

"Ignore me, Frankie, I'm just thinking out loud."  She continued to pilfer around until she found the liquor cabinet.  "Oh, hot damn," she exclaimed.  Donovan watched as she dug around.  "Oh hell, Frankie.  Where the fuck is the vodka?"  She had nearly climbed halfway inside the damn cabinet.  "Oh, goddamn, you suck.  No fucking vodka.  I should have grabbed my flask."  She backed away and closed the door.  Frankie's eyes were fixed on her.  She expected him to be pissed, but he seemed more amused than angry.  _What the hell is wrong with him_?  Getting married had obviously mellowed him out.

"Jonella, sit down," he finally commanded.

Wow.  He had called her 'Jonella.'  He hadn't done that very often.  She held her hands up innocently.  "Okay.  Fine.  I wanted some vodka, but you don't have any.  Shitfire, I counted fifty bottles of bourbon, but no vodka.  What good are you?"  She moved past the cabinet and made herself at home on his couch.  

Donovan watched as she stretched out on the couch.  Her damn legs seemed five miles long.  She reminded him of a granddaddy longlegs.  He didn't want to sit next to her, because he wouldn't doubt that she'd dig her heels into his thigh just for the sheer hell of it.  Instead, he chose to sit on the coffee table directly in front of her.  He wanted to be close to her in case he needed to subdue her.  He never knew what to expect from her.  

"So, Spankie, who did you knock up?  That's the only way a woman would marry you," she said.

Any other time, any other day, he might have laughed and told her to 'fuck off.'  "I'd rather not talk about that right now.  Frankly, Pax, it's none of your fucking business."

She noticed the enraged look on his face.  "Yikes, sawry," she said.  It was then that she saw he wasn't wearing his wedding ring.  In fact, it was lying on the table beside him.  An interesting development…yes indeedy.  "I didn't mean to step on your toes.  Let's start over, okay?  Why did you call me down here?"

He sighed and ran his hands over his face.  "You didn't know, Jonella, I'm sorry, but don't ask about that again."  He looked up at her.  "I needed to bring you down here because I want to know what the fuck you're game is.  I worked with you long enough to know when you're trying to play around.  Did you leave the Death Angels?  Did you _really_?"

She laughed a little and sat up straight on to face him.  In fact, she purposely mocked his position just to tweak his nerves.  She enjoyed the shit out of tweaking him.  He was such a controlled, stoic man, and nothing was better than watching that control fly out the window, even steamy, circus sex.  "Spankie, I don't have a game.  I played you back in the day, but I'm not playing you now.  I so promise you.  I've told you a dozen times, I want out, and fucking up this hit will get me out.  The Angels aren't legit anymore.  They're rogues."  She sighed.  "Goddamn, I'm tired of telling this same fucking story, Frankie.  What do I have to do to convince you?"

"Jonella, you could convince Satan to air condition hell.  You are a very controlled, very convincing liar.  I would go so far to say that you might be pathological.  You haven't changed that much, Pax, not that much at all.  I could read you then, and I sure as shit can read you now.  I don't believe for one minute that you're leaving.  I think you're leading my team into some type of trap.  You're using us to lead you straight to your target, aren't you?  Remember those bullets I put in your legs?  I could easily do that again.  I could easily put a couple in your brain and no one would ever know.  I have my ways of hiding things.  You remember that, too, don't you?"

She placed her hand on his shoulder and shoved him back a little.  "Oh stop the sweet talk, Spankie, I'm getting all wet," she cried.  "Haven't I heard you say once that you never bluff?  I think you're bluffing right now.  You're playing this good guy/bad guy thing, and you suck at it, especially with me.  Goddamn, I think I'm starting to understand why that secretary wanted to fuck you so bad.  You're a goddamn good actor, better than that Oded guy.  What's his name?  Finch?  Frye?  Now that's a sexy fuck."

"You're reprehensible," he growled.  

"Oooh, Spankie upset that I cracked him open?  Come on, this is Pax, not some wide-eyed floozy who would spread her legs for you if you winked at her.  You can believe me or not, I don't care."  She reached over and yanked at his goatee.  He jerked back in pain and surprise.  "Don't look so fucking startled, Frankie.  If you didn't _somewhat_ believe me, would I be here right now?  Wouldn't you have taken me out already?  I think you've lost your touch over the years.  The agency fucked you up, didn't they?  Goddamn it, Frankie, fucking shave.  That goatee looks absolutely ridiculous!"  He didn't move or say one word.  She smacked his cheek.  "Wake up, Frankie!  Are you in there somewhere?"

"You are a fucking lunatic," he spat.

She rolled her eyes and sighed impatiently.  "Back to the name calling?  You need new material."  She crossed her arms over her chest and fixed a stony gaze on him.  "Okay, you have two shots against me.  Now, it's my turn.  You are a witless fuck."

"Better to be witless than a goddamn liar," he said through clenched teeth.

She laughed.  "Yahoo," she cried triumphantly.  "You want to fuck me, don't you?  I was the only woman you knew back then who didn't give a rat's ass about your dick."

He gawped at her.  She had a lot of nerve.  "You think far too highly of yourself, Jonella.  I'd shoot you before I'd touch you."

Pax lifted one of her long, chicken legs and dug a gun out of her bootleg.  She put it to her chest.  "All you have to do is grab onto it and pull the fucking trigger.  You've shot me before, you shouldn't have any trouble doing it now."

He slapped it out of her hand and it fell to the floor with an audible thud.  "It's hard to shoot a gun with the safety on.  Your time as a Death Angel has driven you mad."

"Stop teasing me, Big Boy.  I heard you were kind of…rough.  Is this what you consider foreplay?  Do you have a special room where you hide all your whips and chains?"

Donovan had had enough.  He got up and moved toward the door.  "_Get out_," he demanded.  "I've not been around you in years, and I've suddenly discovered that I haven't missed you at all."

She brought herself up to her feet, yawned, and stretched.  "Our first date, Spankie, I'll never forget it as long as I live."  She moved toward him.  Before he opened the door to expedite her departure, she placed her hand on his scruffy cheek.  "On second thought, don't shave.  The furry face is starting to grow on me."

He intended to shove her hand off his face.  Instead, he took hold of her wrist and held it tightly in his hand.  He was tempted to snap it like a twig.  He was tempted to open the door and throw her sorry ass out.  At the same time, he wanted to turn off the safety of her gun and blow her away.  Yet another part of him wanted to kiss her.  The thought was too revolting to comprehend.  However, he had done it before, hadn't he?  Hadn't there been a weak moment in the not so distant past when he let his guard way down and kissed her?  Yeah.  He remembered it all right.  She had done the same thing to him as she done tonight.  She'd provoked him tirelessly about some stupid shitty thing.  He wasn't even sure what had started the argument.  Of course, it had ended with a brutal kiss, hard and vicious.  She had slapped him, he had slapped her, and both felt better in the morning.

Donovan shoved her against the door and she waited patiently for him to wrap his hands around her throat.  This time, he was going to kill her.  Fuck yeah.  He was going to kill her absolutely dead.  _Ooops, wrongo_, she thought as he took her lips just as brutally as the first time.  She wondered if he had done it to shut her up.  That had to be the case.  He certainly didn't want her.  _Hmmm.  Maybe his defective lip ain't so bad after all_.  He tasted good and felt even better.  It had been too long between kisses.  He broke away after several long moments.  He pulled away and stood back.

"So very nice, Frankie," she whispered.  "It didn't shut me up then and it won't do it now."

He shook his head and rolled his eyes up toward the ceiling, silently asking why the gods were testing him.  He hated this fucking bitch, hated her with a passion.  From day one, she had wrecked his life, and he had never thought she would have another opportunity to do it again.  "Nothing short of a speeding bullet to your brain will shut you up."

"You certainly know how to flatter a girl, don't you," she asked as she blinked coquettishly.  "Frankie, what's a little kiss among friends?"

"I don't want to be your friend, Pax," he said quietly.

She opened the door and stepped out into the hallway.  She kept her eyes focused on him the entire time.  "If you don't want to be my friend, I'll take you as a fuck buddy.  Good night, Spankie."

Donovan closed the door behind her and shot the deadbolt.  He couldn't believe her.  She _had_ changed.  She'd gotten worse than she ever was before.  He couldn't allow her to provoke him; he would not entangle himself with the likes of her.  If he did, he would be playing right into her blood soaked hands.          


	5. A Sticky Situation

A STICKY SITUATION

The alarm clock shrieked shrilly in the stillness of the room.  A thin arm reached over and smacked the top of it, knocking it to the floor with a violent _CRASH_.  _Way to go, you idiot_.  This would make the second fucking clock in two days she would have to replace.  Shit, she hated waking up first thing in the morning.  She was a violent riser, and God forbid if she ever had a bed partner.  Despite what Donovan had thought earlier, there had been a few here and there.  She didn't become too close to many men.  In her line of business, it didn't pay.  If one person discovered her secret life, she would have to take him/her out, literally.  Of course, she hadn't had to do that…yet…but it could happen.  She groaned when she realized that she had three meetings to go to today.  The first, and most irritating, would be a bull session with Frankie and his merry band of junior agents.  The next two had to do with her 'other' assignments.  Today, she would learn everything she needed to know about her targets.  She had been given a few basic descriptions already, but she knew little else.  The lead op had all the information she would need.  Her orders had already been handed down.  As soon as she learned everything, she was to get in, shoot, and get out.  After that, she would return to D.C. and ask to be retired.  Not much had the ability to throw Pax, but this assignment bothered her.  She didn't like the idea of working around Frankie again.  He wasn't stupid [even though he _was_ a witless fuck], and he knew the four one one.  He had never had any trouble with that.  She hoped that Donovan's bag of goodies didn't lead him to the real reason she had been sent to Chicago.  He could dig up anything he wanted on his own, but he had two fairly good diggers on his team and two other agents to carry out any plan formulated.  This assignment would prove very difficult.  She fucking cursed the day she accepted the AOP title.  

After Pax climbed out of the shower, she tromped around her hotel room to dig out her clothes.  Not exactly modest [_who gives a fuck_], she had the window shades up and didn't give one thought to any passersby.  If someone wanted to gawk in, more fucking power to them.  Last night when Frankie called her over, she had nearly begged off.  She needed to avoid him as much as possible, but she didn't think that would happen in this lifetime.  It was kind of hard to avoid a dude who would be under her damn nose every day, all day.  Goddamn, she had wanted to shoot the arrogant fuck.  She realized she had no right to expect him to believe anything that came out of her mouth.  She had shown her true colors to him more times than she could count on her fingers and toes.  He had _shot_ her, for fuck's sake, to keep her from going back, but she went back anyway.  _Ancient fucking history, Pax, move on_.  She went over to the bathroom counter and plugged in the coffee pot.  As she set it up to brew, she grimaced.  Her coffee was never as good as Frankie's.  She wondered what he did to it to make it so perfect.  She couldn't fucking boil water without scorching it.  She glanced down at her wristwatch.  She was running late and she found herself smiling a little.  Frankie was so damn anal about getting to meetings on time.  She could almost hear the bitching now.

*  *  *

Donovan found himself pacing the floor.  He hated delays more than he hated anything.  How in the hell could they get any work done if the cracked bitch refused to get here on time?  _She's doing this on purpose_.  Of course she was.  If she wasn't ruining someone's life, she wasn't happy.  The only schedule she worked by was her own.  If it benefited Jonella Paxton, she would be there Johnny-on-the-spot.  Regardless of the bullshit she had tried to sling at him last night, something was not right with her story.  He had a few tricks up his sleeve, and he would perform them to the letter, if Pax would ever fucking get here.  He shook his head and groaned audibly.  It never failed.  Whenever Pax was around, every other word out of his mouth was a curse.  She brought out the worst in everyone around her.  

If her mission were legit, why would it take so long for her to come to him for help?  He tromped back over to his desk, sat down, and drummed his fingers thoughtfully on the blotter.  He had tried to extract information from her last night, but she had purposely thrown him off track with the name-calling.  She had intentionally provoked him, as she had done millions of times when they were ops together.  Donovan still had a few friends in the agency, and he could easily call upon them if necessary.  He didn't like delving into that pot, but he would if it meant keeping someone alive.  If Pax was involved, someone was destined to die.

Pax sauntered into the nest exactly forty minutes late.  The other UC agents sat scattered about the room with impatient, bored looks on their faces.  Nothing was worse for them than to be idle.  When the agents glanced up at Pax [Jake whispering "Good God, check that out" under his breath], they noticed that she had donned some weird looking black body stocking or cat suit or some ridiculous clothing item and had covered it with her trench coat.  Her spiky heeled boots completed the getup just as it had completed every outfit she wore.  Cody was tempted to ask where she hid her gun in a suit like that, but he bit it back.  Pax was a scary lady, and he didn't want her wailing on him.  Without apologizing, she dove for the coffee pot and poured herself a cup.  She inhaled the aroma.  Heavenly.  Goddamn the man could do amazing things with a coffee bean.  From the periphery of her eye, she watched as Frankie stomped downstairs toward the conference table.  His dark brown eyes were probably black by now.  If they didn't have an audience [_why should that fucking stop me now_], she might have gone up to him and tweaked his nose to make him feel a little…jollier.  Ah well.  Maybe later.  She carried her coffee cup over to the table and chose a chair as far away from the others as she could find.  It wasn't that she was trying to show her superiority over the rest of the group, but she didn't like being crowded in among too many people at once.  She hadn't told many people of this weakness [_does Frankie even know_], because she thought it might one day be used against her.

Donovan approached the conference table and eyed Pax almost viciously.  What he wouldn't give if he could just strangle her and get it over with.  He wondered if anyone would miss her if he did…perhaps someone could help him hide the body.  He shook the disturbing [but somehow lovely] thoughts aside and selected his own chair.  He again found himself drumming his fingers.  

"I hope you realize that you've held us up for an hour or more.  My team is very busy, Pax, and we don't have time to wait for you to show up for a meeting.  I don't enjoy backing up the CIA on anything, so I would like this assignment to get on its feet and out of my hair.  I don't want you to be late again.  Are we clear on that?"

She saluted him as if he were a naval captain.  "My wish is your command, Frankie.  Whatever you say.  I understand that you're the boss, and I'm to follow every baited breath you take," she said smiling at him sweetly.  Without giving him a chance to speak, she continued, "I'm meeting with Weizmulder in a few hours, and he's giving me the directives for the hit.  As soon as I have those in my hands, I will bring them to you."

Donovan shook his head incredulously.  She had taken the helm at the meeting even after telling him she knew he was in charge.  It was just like her.  He immediately moved his hands down to his knees.  He was afraid he'd either strangle her or continue to drum his fingers on the table.  The drumming was an annoying habit he had developed after meeting with Remy and the attorneys.  Weizmulder.  He knew of the man vaguely.  He had been part of the 'good' side of the agency.  Right before Donovan left for good, he'd heard the man went to the covert side.  So far, the 'story' unfolding before them was legit.  Yet, he didn't trust her completely.  All he had to do was think back to the day he discovered she had disappeared.  He should have aimed higher to completely disable her.  She might have then had a chance.  There weren't any questions he could ask to trip her up.  Every piece of information he knew, she would know.  Weizmulder wouldn't send out an assassin unless he or she was properly briefed to the letter.  The agency didn't appreciate mistakes, and if Pax had made any, she would no longer be alive to tell the tale.  Goddamn, he wished he knew.  He _wanted_ for this to be legit, _wanted_ Pax to come clean.  He wouldn't mind taking her out, but he didn't want her own agency to double-cross her as it had double-crossed him.

"Once you have those directives, we're to get multiple briefings, Pax, I won't have it any other way," Donovan began.  "I've spoken to the director numerous times since we received this assignment, and he has made it clear that we are to get in and get out.  The only way we can do this is if you get the information to us in a reasonable amount of time.  How many rogues are there?"

She sat back in the fucking uncomfortable chair [_why didn't he take his fucking overflowing FBI budget and buy some goddamn padded chairs_] and crossed her arms over her chest.  "How am I supposed to know that, Frankie?  Do you think Weizmulder will tell me?  There are quite a few guys on that hit list, and I assume there will be a few guys floating around to do the deeds.  Regardless of this hot body, he doesn't whisper sweet fucking nothings in my ear.  We can't know who is in or out.  It doesn't work like that.  You should know."

He fixed her with a harsh gaze.  "I know nothing of your squad," he spat, "and I never want to know."

"Fuck you, too, Spankie," she quipped back.

*  *  *

_Jesus jumping Christ_, Pax thought.  _That went smashingly well_.  She read Frankie, she read him like a fucking novel.  He didn't buy it for one fucking second.  Their meeting [_face it folks, bitch fest_] had gone on longer than she expected, and she was righto fucking late for the one with Weizmulder.  Goddamn, if it weren't bad enough, Frankie wanted her to come to his place later tonight to look over the 'directives.'  He was so fucking paranoid that he didn't trust having a strategy session in the nest.  He didn't realize that Weizmulder already _knew_ Donovan was involved.  Any old fucking way, she would meet the bastard at his apartment and give him what he wanted [_or what he thought he wanted_].  It took her for fucking ever to find her rental car.  Stupidly enough, she had forgotten what kind she had.  How stupid.  She couldn't even think anymore.  When she finally spotted the rental, she climbed behind the wheel and engaged the door locks.  At that point, she checked to make sure her gun was locked and loaded.  She needed no surprises at Weizmulder's.

*  *  *

Robert "Bobby" Weizmulder had been the lead op of the Death Angels for a few years.  He was a harsh man who hated mistakes.  He sat in his car outside the warehouse he and Pax had been using for their meetings.  She reported to him daily in some fashion to let him know how the plan was going.  Today, he would brief her on the _real_ target, the hit that had been ordered by the director himself.  Occasionally, his squad was called in to correct a mistake here and there that passed down from other governmental agencies, including the FBI.  This hit was one of those clean ups.  One piece of trash had been cleared and there was one more.  Pax had a few weeks to do the job and back out.  If she failed, she would probably turn out to be another stain on the carpet that would need cleaning.  He sighed as he stared down at the photo of the target.  Pax wasn't aware that this woman was connected closely to Donovan.  He had no intention of telling her.  Although her relationship with Donovan was more than precarious, they were fairly loyal to each other, and she would talk.  However, this job was the ultimate test for Pax.  She wanted to retire, and if she completed this hit, he would allow it.  If not, she would be cleaned and put away.  He turned in his seat as he watched the jet black Mustang screeching into the parking lot.  _Finally.  Jesus.  She's late, as usual._

Pax checked her weapon again before she exited the muscle car.  She strolled casually over to Weizmulder's sedan and climbed inside.  "Sorry, boss.  Frankie was a bit on the petulant side this morning, and he got a little longwinded.  He's bringing in the team as I expected, and they're going to provide just enough diversion to clear the way for the hit.  Now are you telling me about my fucking target or am I going to have to guess?"

Weizmulder laughed.  "Have I ever failed to show you the way, Pax?  Jesus, you're getting cynical in your old age."  He dug out the file and handed it to her.  "Commit it to memory, Pax, and shred it.  You have twenty-four hours to do this.  I have a couple of ops tailing her right now."

"_Her_," she spat.  This was new.  None of her hits had been females.  She opened the file and gazed down at the face of her target.  She was pretty in a vacant, ditzy sort of way.  Her hair was long and naturally blonde [_no roots_].  Actually, she was a broad Frankie might have taken a shine to.  He dug chicks just like this, didn't he?  He enjoyed the shit out of those delicate lotus blossoms.  She flipped through several other surveillance photos and saw one of the lady with a kid.  "Weiz, she's a mom."

"Your point, Pax?  How many dads have you hit?  Don't worry about the kid.  She has a father.  She won't be an orphan."  He tapped one of the photos.  "She is an ordered clean up, Pax.  She fucked with a man she had no business fucking with, and she is a boil on the butt of the FBI _and_ the White House.  Don't tell me you're chickening out on me?"

"Oh, hell no," she said.  "I'll hit her.  Where are we doing it?"

*  *  *

Donovan immediately went for the bourbon as soon as he entered the apartment.  He had to have something to calm his nerves before Pax arrived.  He had barely gotten one shot down when the doorbell rang.  _Goddamn, already_, he thought.  Grumbling incoherently, he went to the door and swung it open.  Expecting Pax, he took in a shocked breath when he saw Remy.  At any other time, he might have felt elated, but not today.  There was no way he wanted her to be here when Pax arrived. 

"Remy?  What are you doing here," he asked.

She sighed.  "I was leaving work and needed to talk to you about Frankie, so I thought I'd stop by instead of calling.  Is this a bad time?"

_Fuck yeah it is_, he thought.  Somehow, he felt extremely nervous with the idea of Remy and Pax being in the same room together.  "No."  _Fuck it_.  If and when Pax decided to show up, he could always ignore her.  Besides, he wanted to make sure that his daughter was okay.  "Come in."

Remy entered the apartment and laid her purse on the coffee table as she had done dozens of times when they were still living together.  It fell atop his discarded wedding ring, and he wondered if she had seen it.  She sat on the couch and crossed her legs.  Feeling incredibly awkward, he approached the couch and sat beside her.

"Is something wrong with Stasia," he asked.

She turned to face him.  "Oh no, nothing like that.  I don't want a repeat of what happened last night, and I thought we could schedule some visits."

He gazed at her incredulously.  What the hell?  Was she _really_ here because of that or was it something else?  Why did she have to be so damn coy?  "I won't come that late again, I just needed to see her.  We don't have to schedule anything, Remy.  I know where you live, and I'll call you before I come.  I just wanted to let you know that I'd like to keep her for a while."  He stared at her for a long time, trying to read her.  "Why are you here?  There has to be something else."

She nodded.  "There is.  I'm sorry, Frank.  I felt badly about what happened yesterday.  I didn't want either of us to fight like that.  I'm here to apologize for that, and for the way I threw this divorce so suddenly at you.  I know you didn't expect it."

He chuckled bitterly.  "No shit, Remy.  What happened?  What happened after that weekend we tried to put it back together?  I never understood."

"I don't want to talk about that now," she said.  "What does it matter?  It's over and done.  I need to go."

She made a move toward getting up, but Donovan took hold of her arm.  "Wait.  Don't run.  For once, stay put, and talk to me.  I think that's why everything got so fucked up is because we couldn't talk."

Remy sat back but noticed that he didn't immediately let her go.  She didn't mind.  She didn't realize how much she missed him until she saw him at that attorney's office.  "You're probably right.  I'm sorry."

"Not as sorry as I."

His eyes literally held her captive, as they always seemed to do.  Before she knew it, she was in his arms with her lips latched onto his.  Dear God, it had been far too long since he kissed her with such heated passion, and she was completely helpless to shove him away.  The only thing that brought her back to reality was when she felt her body drifting down to the couch.  If she didn't move soon, she would not escape; she would not _want _to escape.

"_No_," she spat against his lips.  "No."

Confused, he drew away and sat up.  What the fuck?  She had made the first move and she said _no_.  "No?  You didn't come here to talk about our daughter or to apologize for that divorce meeting, did you?  You came because you wanted me, and when I give you what you want, you shove me aside?"

"How do you know what I want, Frank?  If you did, we wouldn't be divorced right now, would we?"

"You can humiliate me on your territory, you can even spit in my face, but I don't have to listen to this in _my_ apartment."  

"You're right, Frank, you don't," she said coldly.

She stood and made her way toward the door.  He was right on her heels.  "Remy, wait," he said, grasping her arm.  "Please?"

She jerked her arm out of his grasp.  "I have to go.  You have a _case_, I have a life."

Donovan gritted his teeth and slammed the door behind her.  How could a woman he loved so much anger him so thoroughly?  He hadn't had much time to calm down before the doorbell rang again.  This time when he swung open the door, it was Pax.  Groaning something about 'crazy fucking women,' he stood back and allowed her access to his apartment.  He went over to his favorite chair and sat down.  If he weren't feeling particularly stingy, he would have offered her a drink.  Fuck her.  She didn't like his shit, she wanted vodka.  Let her have it.

Without an ounce of shame, she removed her coat and tossed it across the back of the couch.  He noticed with only vague interest that she had changed into a severely short mini-skirt and a silk blouse.  Her ash blonde hair was teased and fluffy, falling over her shoulders and down her back.  She looked like a fucking hooker.  Her beloved spike heeled boots came along with her again.  He hated those boots, wanted to rip them off her and burn them.

"What bit your ass, Spankie?"

He glared at her.  "Do you not have a respectful bone in your body?"

She sat down on the couch and crossed her legs.  The skirt slid up even further.  "Nope, I don't, my man.  Besides, I can't think of you as my boss.  It's too fucking weird.  I came to talk business, so let's get it on."

He shook his head and leaned forward.  "I'm not in the mood right now.  Can you come back later?"

She ran her hand through her hair and sighed impatiently.  "I can, but I won't.  You were the one who wanted to make all these strict little rules, Frankie.  I'm here to brief you as you wanted, your majesty."

He wanted to scream, laugh, and cry all at the same time.  She was right, of course.  It was his game as well as hers.  "Really and truly, I can't do this right now.  No bullshit."

He didn't understand that she had a deadline to meet, and whether he wanted to or not, she would work this out with him.  "Fuck that, Frankie.  We're doing it and we're doing it right now."

Donovan glared at her hatefully.  He looked her up and down, seemingly sizing her up.  "Are you trying to provoke me again?  You want me to kiss you again to shut you up?  Maybe it's _you_ who wants to fuck _me_?"

"Wow, you fuck.  Now who's provoking whom?"  He had begun to tweak her, and she didn't like that shit.  "Eat me, you bastard."

He shook his head.  "I'd rather not.  I'm not the slightest bit hungry for what you have.  Leave me, Pax.  I have no patience for you right now."

"Too fucking bad," she spat angrily.  "Get your ass over here right fucking now and look at these goddamn specs before I shove them down your throat."

Angrily, he stood and stalked toward the couch.  He took the neatly prepared file from her hand and tossed it aside.  He took hold of her arm and led her toward the front door.  "We will talk about this tomorrow when I'm not so close to fucking choking you too death."

"You know," she said brightly, "you're a limp dick son-of-a-bitch," she said sweetly.  "You couldn't even get it up when you touched my tit."

He jerked her around to face him.  What the hell was her problem?  "Pax, touching your 'tit' was like handling a depleted saddle bag.  It was your tattoo, you stupid bitch, not your fucking tit.  You are as oily as an eel."

She sneered at him.  "At least an eel can get a stiffy."

His lips were drawn into a snarl and his eyes had gone the color of the blackest coal.  "You are the most disgusting woman I have ever known in my life."

"Oh, you know how to work a woman, don't you, Spankie?  I can see now why your little wife didn't hang around.  Fucking you was probably like fucking a corpse."

That did it, that absolutely did it.  He drew back and slapped her.  The blow barely stunned her at all.  He hadn't put that much pepper behind it.  In turn, she slapped him.  Damn.  This was fucking nuts.  _BANG_.  Her back hit the door again, the knob digging uncomfortably in her butt cheek.  One of hands was holding onto her forearm, the other had come up to her throat.  There was little pressure there, but goddamn if she didn't see murder in his eyes.

She laughed a little.  "You know, Frankie?  That little slapping game kind of turned me on.  You are one damn sexy bastard."****

_Damn sexy bastard_.  Hadn't he heard that somewhere before?  He shook it off.  She was trying to throw him.  The hand on her throat tensed and relaxed, relaxed and tensed.  The next step, the one working through him, would be an out and out betrayal of everything he had known, everything he loved.  He had been denied, and it would serve her right for doing this to him.  Which her?  Remy?  Pax?  Fuck it.  He wasn't thinking clearly, nor did he care to right now.  Fuck it.  Fuck it all.  

Donovan released her throat and mashed his mouth down onto hers.  _Here we go again_, Pax thought.  But something happened that was quite unexpectedly different.  Instead of letting her go after he shut her up with his brutal kiss, his hands roamed her body restlessly, hotly.  _Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck_, she thought.  They had toyed with each other for years, had toyed with each other since they met again, but not…seriously.  She had never seriously considered fucking him, did she?  She wanted to back off and regroup, but she couldn't.  He broke the kiss just long enough to catch his breath before doing it again.  She could have easily broken away, but she didn't.  _What the fuck is wrong with this picture_?  Frankie was…disgusting…gross…hot…hot…oh shit.  Uh uh, no way.

The moment his hands traveled down to her thighs, damn if she didn't wrap her fucking leg around him.  _Riiiiiiiip_.  Shit.  Her skirt let go.  Oh well.  Easier to remove that way.  Donovan didn't break the kiss as his hand reached ruthlessly under her ripped skirt.  A sound left her [_ahhhhhhh_] as he closed his fist around the delicate waistband of her thong.  With a savage move, he ripped them apart, the elastic snapping back onto the side of her hip.  

Once he stopped kissing her, she cried, "Oh, goddamn you.  That hurt."

"Shut up, just fucking shut up," he growled against her neck.

Her hand reached for the snap and zipper of his slacks and she opened them as quickly as was humanly possible.  "I was wrong," she said as her hand fell on him.  "You _can_ get a stiffy."

"Stop talking," he said.  "Stop talking before you ruin it," he demanded as he claimed her lips again.

He thrust into her savagely with little hesitation or gentleness.  _Oh jumping Jesus on a fucking camel_.  He finally broke his vicious kiss so that he could concentrate on matters a tiny bit more urgent.  He pressed her solidly against the door, supporting her with one hand planted firmly on her ass.  The other had dug into her waist to guide her along.  There was no way she could keep up with him on her own.  He kept his eyes focused on her face the entire time he slammed into her.

Nope.  This wasn't going to work out.  She was fucking tired of having her head banging into the door with each hard thrust.  "Do me right, you fucker," she said.

He wasn't sure he understood, nor was he sure he _wanted_ to understand.  With a grunt, he pulled back and took her down to the floor.  Not missing a beat, he unceremoniously plunged into her, almost crushing his body against hers again and again and again.  There were more ripping sounds, and he realized that she was tearing him out of his damn shirt.  He didn't care, didn't give a ripe fuck.  His wife [_ex-wife_] had given him the shirt, and ripping it was like ripping her, and that was all right.  She hooked her nails [_fuck, they're claws_] into his back as she cried out.  The guttural sounds escaping her began to work on him, sending him close, nearly sending him over.  _Uh uh.  No way.  No how_.  _Punish her.  Punish me.  Punish all of us_.  

A sound escaped him [_ah_] as his body tensed abruptly.  The lunatic thrusts ceased just for a moment, a very brief moment, before he pounded into her a few more times for good measure.  As fluid escaped his body and entered hers, he opened his mouth to breathe, to take in air before he collapsed from the sheer lack of oxygen.      

*  *  *

******Thank you, Ms. Dreamy for allowing me to use your patented "damn sexy bastard!"  HA!**


	6. Delicate Matters

DELICATE MATTERS

Donovan supported his weight on his hands as his body continued to work through his massive, bitter release.  He was afraid that if he toppled on top of Pax, that she might harm him bodily.  She might do it anyway once the awkwardness subsided.  He wasn't sure what to say or do.  He knew right at that moment, he couldn't yet move.  For a moment, a tiny moment, he hoped she wouldn't shove him aside for at least three or four minutes.  He was a bit horrified to note that he felt the first tinges of guilt creeping into him.  He had only attacked her like he did due to his anger from Remy's denial.  Then again, the smug bitch beneath him had purposely pushed all his buttons.  Yet, it felt as if he had betrayed his wife [_ex-wife_] by fucking [_yes, fucking…he couldn't call it 'making love' with a straight face_] this heinous bitch from the deepest pits of hell.  God.  What had he done?  What had _they_ done?  He closed his eyes tightly and kept them closed.  He didn't want to look at her, to see her face.  With Pax, it was either hot or cold, it was never warm.  If she made some type of disgusting crack [which she would], he'd probably smack her.

Unlike Donovan, Pax's eyes were wide open, and she stared at him with a perplexed sort of daze in her eyes.  What the hell happened?  Of course, it was _obvious_ what had happened, but she wondered what had brought it about.  How many times in the past had she and Frankie been together, smack up against each other, and nothing happened?  Dozens?  Shit.  They had kissed before, of course, but nothing else.  For some stupid ass reason, Frankie thought he had to have control over every damn thing, and if he couldn't shut her up the conventional way, he went into primo asshole mode. Gung ho all the way, he'd kiss her to cut the shit.  She didn't think he wanted her, he certainly wasn't attracted to her, but it was the only way he could disgust her enough to render her speechless.  It worked like a fucking beautiful charm.  Tonight, though, he had tried another trick, a new one, and a surprisingly _good_ one.  Damn, things were bound to get weird now.  Fuck.  They were _already_ weird.

Sighing, keeping his eyes closed, Donovan drew away from her.  She remained leaned back on her elbows and watched him curiously.  _Did I do that_, she thought as she stared at the tattered remains of his shirt.  Goddamn.  It seemed as if a panther had gotten hold of Spankie's shirt and ripped it right the fuck up.  Wow.  He had been good, but she didn't think he'd been _that_ good.  She then glanced down at the ripped mini-skirt and broken thong panties.  _Jesus, please us_.  Had it gotten that hot?  She watched as the poor shell-shocked fuck backed away, daring not to look at her.  She had a heart [_surprise, surprise_], and she was a bit disturbed by what happened, but fuck it.  It couldn't be taken back now, could it?  Nope.  She rose up, feeling the wonderful crack of her spine as she stretched a little.  The floor was as hard as a fucking brick.  Plus, her ass cheek probably had an awesome bruise appearing from the rough ride against the doorknob.  _I think he broke my butt cheek.  I really, really do_.  Something directly behind her caught her attention.  _No fucking way_.  She had to look again to make sure she saw what she thought she saw.  She glanced at Frankie again.  He still had his back to her, examining his torn shirt as if he were fascinated by it.  She brought her body shakily to her feet and watched as the torn thong slid down her legs.  _Splat_.  Her skirt was hanging by a thread.  She ignored it for a moment and moved closer to what had drawn her attention.  It was a small photo in an ornate frame.  _Dear jumping Jesus on a camel_.  Suddenly, her heart began to rev like a well-tuned engine.

"Who is this, Frank," she asked, holding onto her sanity with an iron fist.

He turned toward her, stunned.  She had never called him 'Frank.'  He noticed she was looking at a photo of Remy.  He didn't want to think of her right now, not after what he'd done.  However, Pax was staring at the picture as if it were some holy symbol.  "My wife," he said, and then chuckled bitterly.  "I mean, my ex-wife," he spat.

Without a word, she grabbed her trench coat and slipped into it.  She was a bit…indecent without it.  "I gotta bail, Frankie."

"Wait," he said, "I need to say something to you."

"Don't bother," she said, waving him off.  "It was a nice mercy fuck, Spankie, but I don't think we should start picking out our china patterns yet.  See ya."  She left as quickly as she entered.  

*  *  *

Pax stormed into her hotel room and took off her coat.  She threw it viciously onto the floor and contemplated stomping the fucker.  However, what good would it do?  It couldn't feel any pain, couldn't cry out.  What sense did it make abusing it?  Pax ripped off her blouse and torn skirt.  She tossed both garments into the wastebasket.  They were useless pieces of clothing to her now.  Dressed only in her bra and spiky boots, she began to pace the room crazily.  When she realized how she looked, she groaned and discarded the rest of her clothing and the boots.  She had to take a shower, had to get Frankie's scent off her, had to wash him away from inside her.  Goddamn, goddamn, goddamn.  Surely, Weizmulder had known who the hit was.  Why hadn't he told her?  Why hadn't he clued her in?  She had destroyed her file already.  If she hadn't, she would have dug it out and looked through it again.  It didn't matter.  Everything inside had been committed to memory.  

The woman, Remy Ellis, had fucked around with a senator until a rogue FBI man, Edward Lomax, had him taken out.  The rogue had tried to do the same with the woman, but she had somehow escaped detection.  _Gee, she was fucking Frankie.  How would she **ever** survive?_  She had no doubt that Frankie was probably her bodyguard or some other shit.  Lomax had made the Bureau look 'bad,' so it was time for a cleaning.  _See ya, Ed, don't let Satan kick your ass too badly down in hell, bucko_.  When the hoopla died down, the FBI found another 'element' that needed cleaning.  Remy Ellis.  She was the woman in the file, the mother.  Her husband was Frankie fucking Donovan.  Her kid's father was Frankie fucking Donovan.  Goddamn, goddamn.  This was going to complicate everything, now wasn't it?  Weizmulder had told her she would be in and out.  The stupid fuck.  What would Frankie do when he discovered that his old lady was her intended target?  She shook her head and continued to pace about the room.  It didn't matter.  Nothing had changed.  She had a mission, and by God, she would complete it.  In fact, she might find a way to extract more information about the woman from Frankie.  Perhaps he would be willing to talk about her, since she was now an 'ex.'  When she saw Weizmulder again, she intended to give him a piece of her fucking mind.  The prick.  She hated him.  She wanted a time to come for him to need a 'cleaning,' she would be more than willing.  _Oh yeah.  I always wanted to be lead op_.

*  *  *

Weizmulder watched in silence as Pax left her muscle car.  He shook his head incredulously as he noticed that she had donned painted on blue jeans and a tight blue sweater that barely went to her midriff.  Today, she had foregone the trench coat.  It was unlike her.  Something must have happened to throw her off track.  He wondered if she had found out the true identity of her target.  He knew it was only a matter of time.  Pax had a stubborn streak in her, but she was fairly smart.  She had been hanging around Donovan again.  He had had a man tailing Pax since she came into Chicago.  She hadn't messed up many hits, but there were a few, and she was due for a cleaning.  However, if she passed this particular test, she might escape it for a little while.  He liked Pax, liked her ruthlessness and cold-blooded streak, but throwing her with Donovan again hadn't been the brightest of ideas, especially considering that the target was married to him [well, not anymore, anyway].

"Okay, you fucking prick," Pax spat as she climbed into the car.  "What the fuck are you thinking?  You didn't tell me the target was Frankie's ex-wife.  You fucking expect me to clean a woman associated with him?  Are you cracked?  He was an op, he's already onto me a little, and it won't take much for him to realize what's going on.  Goddamn it, Weizmulder, why in the fuck did you put me on this?"

"Losing your nerve, Pax?  Unless you have a soft spot for Donovan, I don't see how anything has changed.  Sure he's close to the gig, but it's never stopped you before, has it?  You've escaped his grasp many times.  If you want to back out, I can arrange for a replacement, but I can't guarantee that you'll still be able to retire.  Besides, if you're around Donovan enough, you could possibly get more information from him."

Low blow.  Fuckwad.  After their heated little episode in his living room, she wasn't sure that Frankie would ever speak to her again.  Not only that, but if he was already suspicious, how would he feel if she suddenly became interested in his ex-wife?  It wouldn't take long for him to add it up.  Was there a way around it?  She thought there might be.  If she could distract him.  How had she done it last night?  Hadn't she just started pushing his buttons before he exploded?  She could do it again.  Sure she could.  She wasn't Ms. America, she wasn't even as cute as the ex-wife, but she wasn't a dog, either.  She hadn't had to use her body much, and never had to sleep around to get a job done, but she could do it if necessary.  She knew Frankie enough to know exactly which nerve to tweak.  First, she had to make him trust her again, and that feat would be the greatest of all.  After that, she could clean and get the fuck out.

"He makes me sick, Weizmulder," she said, her face puckering with disgust.  "Every time he comes near me, I nearly puke.  That fucker wears so much cologne; I'm surprised that I haven't been knocked into a coma yet.  There are no soft spots.  Frankie has never been anything less than a butt ache since I've met him."  _Speaking of butt aches, that bruise on my ass is quite colorful.  Wanna see_?  Oh God.  She hoped the prick sitting beside her never discovered she fucked Frankie.  What happened had been bad form, bad form indeed.  "Don't worry about him.  I can handle it and I can extract anything from him I want."

*  *  *

Donovan stood in his office, purposely avoiding his team for the moment.  As usual, Pax was expected at any minute for her daily briefing.  He was growing impatient regarding her reluctance to set things in motion.  The longer she held out, the longer he had to spend around her, and he found the thought…distasteful.  _Do you really_?  Shit.  He had practically raped her last night, but then, that wasn't exactly true, either.  She had joined in on the fun [_was it fun?_] the same as he.  It was a bit on the weird side, and he wasn't sure how he would act when she arrived.  Of course, it depended on her reaction.  He didn't think he could take it if she came in all gushy and mushy.  _Who's got an ego today_, his inner demon [ironically enough, it was Pax's voice] asked.  What did he expect?  Did he think she was going to walk in and immediately want to…_date_ him?  The thought was too upsetting to comprehend.  What had he done?  What the hell had he done?  Sighing, he went back to his desk and sat down.  He needed to prepare himself, but he couldn't quite get his shit together.  Absently, he picked up an ink pen and began scribbling on a notepad sitting before him.

An hour later, Donovan decided to end his self-imposed isolation.  He couldn't avoid the team any longer.  When his foot touched the last step, he had to stop for a moment.  _Who the hell is **that**_, he thought.  Pax stood tall and well put together in a navy blue executive pantsuit.  Gone was the spiky heeled boots.  They had been replaced with a pair of navy blue pumps with sensibly low heels.  Her wild hair had been tamed and was up in a neat French twist.  He had never seen her look so…_professional_.  Normally, she decked herself out as if she were a wayward prostitute.  Vaguely, he wondered if someone had died and she had dressed for the funeral.  She had yet to turn toward him, and for a moment, he was tempted to haul ass back upstairs.  He was a damn chickenshit.  He had used her body for as his pacifier, and he didn't know what to do.  Again, it was awkward and uncomfortable.  God.  His buttons hadn't been pushed that effectively in months.

Pax took her coffee cup and turned toward Frankie.  She noticed that he was staring at her as if he had never seen her before.  Real fucking clothes must have stunned him.  "Yes, I do have other things to wear that aren't so…street walker'ish," she spat with a wicked gleam in her eyes.  Poor Frankie.  He was so fucking flustered, wasn't he?  She hadn't seen him like this before.  The consummate preacher was silent.  When would that happen again?  Lost was the banter.  She didn't know if she was happy about that or not.  Cautiously, she approached the Dono-Man.  Although she could see he had rather cut off his thumb than allow her to touch him again, she couldn't resist stepping up to him.  She _had_ to; her assignment [and life] depended on it.  "Is something bothering you?"

Donovan's gaze changed from one of dread to horror.  He noticed that the team was seated around the conference table, staring up at them curiously.  Cody was stage-whispering something to Jake, and he was certain he didn't want to hear it.  Not in this lifetime.  He took hold of her arm and guided her body toward the stairs.  He pushed her forward, indicating that she should climb up.  Once they were both in his office, Donovan closed the door behind them and drew down the shades.  If he decided to deck her, he didn't want any witnesses.  He felt like a shit, and by God, he was going to apologize, even to _her_, the heartless bitch that she was.  

"Jonella," he began.

She smiled a little.  "Oooooh, you're using my first name again.  How utterly…intimate."

He approached her and put his hand over her mouth.  Nope.  He didn't want to lock lips with her again.  In his current frame of mind, he might have fucked her again, and neither of them needed that.  "_Shut up_," he demanded.  "Shut up and let me speak.  I won't let you go until I have my say, do you understand?"  Grinning behind his hand, she shook her head, her eyes flashing amusedly.  "What happened last night should not have happened at all."  He stopped for a moment.  Hadn't he once said something _very_ similar to Remy?  He shook it off.  "I'm sorry.  I allowed my anger to get the best of me.  It won't happen again."  Donovan removed his hand and stepped back to assess her.  

She planted her hands on her hips and smiled at him.  "What are you saying, Spankie," she asked with a lilting voice that grated all over his nerves.  "You don't want to take me to the prom?  It's not a big deal, you witless fuck, I don't love, like, or want you.  I can tolerate you, but that's about it.  So, don't get so worked up.  I don't even expect a 'thank you' for providing you with fairly good and steamy entertainment."  She stopped for a moment and beheld his 'what the fuck' look.  Goddamn.  She hated this part of the job.  Her brashness hid her true and awkward confusion.  "Like I said, it was a mercy fuck, plain and simple, Spankie, but that's okay.  You weren't half bad for a dickless wonder."

Donovan tried…_tried_…to let her comments slide by.  It was more than obvious that she was provoking him again.  If he could walk away, it would be over.  However, he couldn't.  He had played this game hundreds of times with her, and it was more than likely that he would play them a hundred more.  Angrily, he stalked toward her, took hold of her shoulder, and shoved her against the edge of his desk.  The unyielding edge bit into her bruised ass, and she gritted her teeth against the pain.  He wanted to play rough and tumble again.  Oh goody.  She had never been fucked on top of a desk before.  Too bad she wasn't wearing another skirt.  She could have foregone the panties today.  

Without the boots, she was a few inches shorter, and he was able to glower down into her face.  He held onto her shoulder tightly, digging his fingers into her flesh.  His other hand was clenched into a fist at his side.  He wanted to wrap it around her throat, but he had no intention of going there again.  "I should end your life," he spat through clenched teeth.  "I could do it fairly easily, you know.  You've watched me kill with my bare hands before, and I could revert right back to that within moments.  Stop playing these endless games and get this mission on the road.  I'm tired of you, tired of your shit, and I'm not taking it anymore."

She smiled at him.  The smile was sick and lascivious.  "Gosh damn.  Did I tweak something other than your nerves?"  She darted her tongue out and licked the end of his nose.  He gaped at her.  She giggled as if she had heard the funniest joke ever told.  "I always loved your nose, Spankie.  It's so long…and sharp…a lot like what's between your legs."

"You _will not_ provoke me no matter how hard you try," he spat, not releasing his hold on her shoulder for one second.  He didn't want her going anywhere until he was finished with her.  "What's the game, Jonella?  I know you have one.  You always have a game going.  Did you set me up to do that last night?  Did you?  You were never interested in fucking around with me before, why are you now?"

Okay.  The game had changed.  Now she was pissed.  "Did _I_ set _you_ up?  What the fuck are you saying?  _Who_ invited _whom_?  I didn't rip you out of your fucking underwear, did I?  I didn't put a bruise on your fucking ass by pounding away at you like a rutting bull.  For your information, you prick, I'm not so goddamn interesting in fucking you at all."

Donovan shook his head, finally breaking his glowering stare.  He was trying to collect himself before he really did kill her.  Ah, the old guilt button.  She hadn't just pushed it, she stabbed it.  _She's right.  Every word is dead on.  _He was completely too enraged to apologize.  If he opened his mouth, he'd either scream at her or kiss her again.  _No, I can't do that.  I can't let her do it to me.  This is a game, and I can't play it_.  After a moment, he looked at her.  "Okay, Jonella, you win.  I am a prick," he said, "and I've already apologized for taking advantage of you."  _God, this is so déjà vu_, he thought.  "It stops here.  It stops today.  I won't say this again.  If we don't go into the field by the end of the week, my team is finished with this assignment _and_ you."

"I told you that a goddamn apology isn't necessary, Spankie.  I may have done a favor for you as well," she spat, cutting him on purpose.  This wasn't part of her plan.  He had pissed her right the fuck off, and she intended to fight back.  

"What do you mean," he demanded, his grip suddenly tightening even more.

"From what you did last night, it seems as if you hadn't gotten any in a long time.  You had a lot built inside, didn't you," she asked, sneering.

"You bitch," he growled.  

"Mmmm," she said, tilting her face up to his.  "That's what you like about me, isn't it?"  She ran her tongue along his lips, noticing that he didn't back away.  "Care to go another round," she asked.

"No," he said, "not here."             

"Really," she said.  "If not here, why are the shades drawn?"

"To keep your murder from sight.  I need no witnesses."  The malice had totally gone out of his voice now.  _What am I doing?  What the fuck am I doing?  I'm playing right into it_.

The hand clutching her shoulder had loosened up considerably.  It moved downward, cupping her small breast through the thick, tweed top.  "Okay," she said softly.  "Your loss.  And Frank, stop feeling me up."

Her words seemed to have broken the spell he was under.  He stepped back and his hand went directly to the nape of his neck.  _Goddamn.  I'm letting her fuck me up.  I can't believe this_.  "You can go now," he said coldly.

Pax remained leaning against the edge of his desk.  "Missed and dismissed, eh Spankie?  See you tonight."

He shook his head.  Not looking at her, he said, "No you won't."

"Whatever you say," she said before taking her leave.

When she exited his office, he clenched his fists as a sound left his throat [_ahhhhaahhh_].  He brought his hands up as if beseeching the gods to end his torment.


	7. And Away We Go

AND AWAY WE GO

Darkness had just fallen, and that was when she liked getting out the most.  It was much too hard to blend into the scenery during the day, so she did most of her work at night when she was at her best.  She had just started tracking her, but she was pretty sure her routine wouldn't be that difficult to learn.  The woman didn't have much of a life, it seemed.  She went out early, taking her kid to day care, and then catching a bus to work.  She came home at dusk, her kid in tow, and then disappeared inside a mid-sized apartment building.  This was Remy Ellis [formerly Remy Ellis-Donovan].  Of course, she would watch her at least for another day just to make sure she didn't vary.  Pax didn't want to perpetrate the hit while the woman had the kid.  She could take out anyone as long as he/she weren't a child.  Her best chance would happen at home, in the apartment.  If she could find a way to train a telescopic sight on her, the woman would be dead before anyone [including her kid] knew.  Sighing heavily, she had to push herself to approach the apartment building.  If she didn't find her apartment, she couldn't orchestrate her hit.  Casually, she strolled into the lobby and was confronted with a long wall of mailboxes.  It was just her rotten luck that the boxes weren't labeled with names [_duh…that would have been too damn easy_].  Her stalking job suddenly became harder.  Pax moved along the hallway, intent on banging on every door until she found the right place, until something stopped her dead.  Pax made herself scarce as Remy descended a flight of stairs and moved toward a mailbox.  Quickly, Pax counted out the boxes so she could find the number.  She watched Remy as she retrieved her mail before moving back toward the stairs.  Quickly, Pax jumped out from her hiding place and strolled by the mailboxes.  Goody.  The apartment was lucky #7C.

*  *  *

Remy carried a stack of mail into the small apartment and threw it down on the kitchen table.  She listened for Frankie, but suddenly remembered that Renata had taken her to the grocery store with her.  She turned her attention back to the mail and began to thumb through it.  _Nothing interesting in here_, she thought.  Most of it was bills and junk mail.  Without warning, she burst into tears.  This had become something of a ritual for her, especially when Renata and Frankie weren't home.  She tried not to get upset in front of her sister and daughter.  Usually when she cried, the baby cried.  If Renata saw her, she would demand that she confess.  How could she explain to her sister that she divorced the man she loved without so much as giving them a chance to rebuild?  Could she help it that his job terrified her?  Could she help it that she was so afraid of losing him forever that her only chance of retaining her sanity was to leave?  But then, his job was really just a tiny, tiny part of the problem.  The bigger portion came in the form of several threatening phone calls.  

Before she had left Donovan for the last time, the phone calls started.  She never knew the caller's identity, and the calls couldn't be traced.  The first came several days before she and the baby had returned to Donovan for that long, wonderful weekend.  The caller didn't say much, just a few words, calling her a 'slut.'  Of course, she hadn't blinked twice.  Since the incident with the senator, crank calls became the thing of the day.  However, it had stopped when she and Donovan were married.  She shrugged it off, never bothering to mention it to her husband.  That turned out to be quite a mistake.  After the initial phone calls, they began to recur every other day.  Again, nothing more than insults were hurled at her, and she had begun to wonder if the senator's wife had anything to do with it.  Since Wengrod's death, she had gone on the decline, and had spent some time in a mental hospital.  The calls grew longer and harsher in duration.  Finally, a gruff voice told her that her 'fucking around' would eventually lead to 'career problems' for Donovan.  At that point, she had gotten scared shitless.  The caller often warned her to never tell her husband, because 'he would know.'  At first, she had tried to play it down, but then the caller knew initimate details of her affair with Wengrod and hers with Donovan.  The last call came on a Sunday; right after Donovan had left for an emergency.  This time, the caller said that if she didn't leave her husband for good, he would die.  She took this call very seriously.  She couldn't allow anything to happen to her husband.  She left right after that, but did not return.  To her horror, the calls did not stop.  They continued for a few weeks here and there, commending her for her 'good sense.'  

Although it had killed her to do it, she filed for divorce and continued her façade of selfish childishness.  What else could she do?  Could she allow Donovan to pay for something she had done in her past?  He had nothing to do with her affair, absolutely nothing.  Of course, she had been accused [and not so nicely] of seducing Donovan for her own amusement, but that wasn't true.  She had fallen in love with him, had never wanted anything or anyone that wasn't him.  If being married to her meant he would die, she would leave.  She would run and stay away forever.  The sad thing was, she couldn't explain it to him, and he was so hurt and bitter.  Who could blame him?  If the situation were reversed, she would likely feel the same.  It was the one thing she regretted the most.  She had been warned to stay away from Donovan, but she couldn't, not totally.  She couldn't keep him away from his daughter no matter what the threat.  She knew she had taken a tremendous chance when she went to him.  He had been right, she _had_ gone to him because she needed to see him, _wanted_ to see him above all else.  When he kissed her, she had been tempted to let it go, to fall into his arms and tell him everything.  Her fear wouldn't let her.  As per her standards, she up and ran away.    

A thousand times she had reached for the phone, only drawing away at the thought of that gruff voice.  She didn't mind putting herself in danger, she didn't mind allowing the man with the harsh words to kill her.  The caller could do what he wanted, but he had threatened her husband, and she wasn't willing to sacrifice him.  She did sacrifice her marriage, and she thought that she could live without him divorced, but couldn't imagine living without him forever.  Perhaps if the threat ever died down, they could be together again.  Yet, she didn't see that happening, not ever.  More than likely, she had alienated her husband [_ex-husband_], and he would never want her again.  She buried her face into her arms, as her silent tears became harsh, braying sobs.  She might as well let it all out while she had the chance.  Once her sister and daughter returned, she would have to hide it, to bury it deeply.  The squall settled after several minutes, and she lifted her head and swiped at her tears impatiently.  She sat back and stared at the phone hanging on the wall.  She was tempted to call again.  She wanted to see him, wanted to explain.  What if the phone was tapped?  She hadn't received any calls in a long time.  Perhaps it was over.  She slid back from the table and slowly approached the phone, as if afraid it would reach out and smack her.  She laid her hand on the receiver, but hesitated slightly.  Pushing herself forward, she picked up the phone and dialed the number.  After three rings, she immediately knew Donovan wasn't home.  He usually answered promptly.  Before the answering machine kicked on, she hung up.  It was too late now, too late to go back.

*  *  *

Donovan had tried to sleep, but it was no use.  When he arrived home, he had been totally and completely exhausted.  His encounters with Pax were doing something to his mind and body.  As he lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, his eyes wandered to yet another photo of his wife [_ex-wife_] and daughter.  It seemed that since she had left, there were five dozens photos scattered about, tormenting him.  He rose up on one elbow, grabbed the photo, and turned it facedown.  He couldn't look at it anymore, not right now.  He was angry with himself and his betraying body.  He still couldn't reconcile what had happened between him and Pax, not only here, but also at the nest as well.  He had been tempted [more than tempted] to take her right there on his desk, knocking shit over as he did it.  He had no idea what the motivation was.  Again, he didn't want this woman, didn't have any feelings for her whatsoever.  Plus, he had never been tempted before.  Or had he?  He thought of the times he had kissed her when they were working together.  Couldn't those incidents have progressed if either one or the other of them had pressed forward?  Of course it could have.  Yet, they hadn't crossed that line due to the simple fact that they had to work together.  Partners becoming lovers was a bad idea, no one had to tell him that.  Perhaps that had been the motivation to keep away from each other so long ago.  However, that motivator wasn't in place right now, was it?  He didn't trust her, didn't trust her as far as he could throw her, but still, he'd attacked her twice, the second time stopping himself just in time.  Shit.  There was no way in hell he could sleep tonight.  He slid out of bed and dressed down in jeans and a tee shirt.  Grabbing a jacket and shrugging into it, he decided to take a long walk until he passed out from the sheer exhaustion.

Where was he going?  What was he doing?  It didn't matter, he didn't care.  He simply needed to do _something_ to shut down his mind.  He was tempted to walk over to Renata's apartment and drop in on Remy and Stasia again.  He shook his head at the thought.  No.  He wouldn't go to Remy without calling first as he had promised.  Besides, she had finally convinced him that she didn't want him anymore.  The divorce should have been his first clue, but no, he was stubborn.  Divorces could be stopped easily.  She had come to him, clearly wanting him, clearly wanting to see him, but then she turned and denied him.  She had pushed him away, sent him off, and that move had hurt just as much as seeing the divorce decree.  Goddamn it.  Would he ever stop loving or thinking about her?  _Would he_?  She had taken the first step toward moving on, hadn't she?  Nothing outside death seemed as final as divorce.  It gave her a chance to meet someone else, fall in love, and marry again, shuttling his daughter to a 'step dad.'  Although he was a raging hypocrite, the thought of his wife [_ex-wife_] with another man drove him insane with jealousy.  Grumbling to himself, he realized that he had to go on, to put it behind him.  She would not come back to him unless he gave up his job, and he couldn't do that.  He didn't understand why she couldn't understand that.  He had never asked her to give up anything other than her single status.  The weekend they had together was amazing.  They hadn't argued or hurt each other the entire time they were together.  He simply couldn't understand what drove her away again. 

Donovan stumbled over a crack in the sidewalk.  _Shit_. It quickly brought him back to reality.  It was then that he realized he had been walking subconsciously toward this particular destination [it wasn't Renata's apartment].  He stood in front of the swank hotel where Pax was staying.  _Why am I here?  What the fuck am I doing_?  He had walked several blocks lamenting over how much he loved and missed Remy.  Yet, here he was, standing in front of Pax's hotel, considering if he should stay or go.  He didn't want anything from Pax other than that one thing, and he wasn't sure how he felt about that.  It was rotten, terrible, vicious, but he couldn't help it.  When he was around this particular thorn in his side, he didn't have time to think about the other.  

As Donovan stood debating with his inner demon, Pax came up from around the corner.  She had just returned from her night moves.  She saw Frankie standing before the hotel as if he were transfixed by it.  What the fuck was he doing here?  _Well, dumb ass, you did tell him you would see him tonight, didn't you?_  Of course, she did, but she didn't expect him to fucking show up on her doorstep.  Good God, what did he want now?  For a moment, she was convinced he knew her secrets, convinced that he had uncovered the identity of her hit.  He would surely kill her now.  She took a deep breath to steel herself.  Her neck already ached and he hadn't touched it yet.  She wondered if there was another way around to get to her room.  Of course there wasn't.  Perhaps if she could slip by…shit.  Frankie turned just as she started to flee in the opposite direction.  He stood and stared at her.  He knew she saw him.  _This is new.  She's avoiding me now_.  Crazily enough, he turned and began to pursue her.  _Let her go, you stupid fuck.  Let her go and end this game_.

"Jonella," he called out.  "I know you saw me.  Please stop."

She did as he instructed and turned to face him.  He noticed [with distaste] that she had donned her usual gear.  "So, Spankie, I suppose you want _briefed _again?  What the fuck are you doing here?"

He shrugged.  "I don't have a clue."

Sighing impatiently, she moved past him and strode toward the hotel.  "Since you're here, you witless fuck, you might as well come in and have a drink."

The hotel room was large and luxurious.  He had never known the CIA to shell out such an expanse of money to obtain a room for one of its ops.  He took off his jacket and made himself comfortable on the overstuffed couch.  He wanted to be here under the guise of business, but he couldn't lie to himself.  It was sick, but he actually wanted something to happen, wanted it very badly.  He watched as Pax brought over his drink.  He nearly balked when he saw the clear liquid.  Vodka.  She had given him fucking vodka.  He was tempted to take the glass and toss the booze in her face.  She had a lot of nerve giving him vodka; especially after what happened to him the first time he had drank it with her.  Instead, he took the glass.  He didn't have to drink it, did he?  Nope.  He watched as Pax went over to an overstuffed chair.  She sat down in it, drawing her long legs beneath her.  Keeping her eyes on him the entire time, she brought her glass up to her lips and killed her drink in one large gulp.  She drank vodka as if it were water.

"I don't care what you do tonight, Frankie, but I ask that you don't apologize again.  If you do, I'm going to kick your ass," she said.  She was tempted to get more vodka, but she hesitated.  She had drunk her first down quickly, and it wouldn't take long her to drink enough to pass out.  "So, I ask again, what the fuck are you doing here?  I can't imagine why you'd waste your time on little ol' me, especially since you find me so disgusting and shit."

He sighed and sipped at the vodka.  It hit his throat harshly, nearly making him gag.  "Jonella, face-to-face, without the eyes of my team, without anything, I want to know why you're here.  I don't want some bullshit about helping you stop a group of rogues from wiping out a couple of politicians.  I want the _real_ story, the _true_ one.  I'll bend over backward to help you, but you have to tell me."

"Frankie, just because you fucked me doesn't mean you have to call me Jonella," she began.  She watched as he rolled his eyes and sighed in frustration.  "You know everything I know."  _Except for the fact that your little ex-wife is my target_.  "If there was anything else, I'd tell you.  Don't you trust me?"

"Fuck no, I don't trust you," he spat.  "Why would I?  How long were we stuck in the jungle together?  Weeks?  Longer than that?  I never knew about your _other_ job until I began following you.  Is that what it's going to take for me to get the truth out of you, Pax?  _Is it_?  I don't like what we've done; I can't stop that feeling, but it tears me up inside to think that you're fucking with my mind.  Right now, that's exactly what it feels like.  Suddenly, it seems as if you're focused on one thing, and that's getting into my pants.  I don't get it.  I can't find anything on you because you're hidden as well as I.  For the last time, Pax, tell me the truth.  Tell me the truth and I'll go away."

_Fuck it_.  She got up and went for the vodka.  Instead of filling her glass a quarter full, she filled it to the brim and carried it back to the chair.  "Frankie, I've always fucked with your mind, but you just didn't know it.  I'm the same person I was back then, just older and wiser.  I didn't try to fuck you back then because of who we were to each other at the time."  Her last statement was the only truth she told.  She brought herself to her feet, downed half of her drink, and approached him where he sat.  She stood over him in her damnable spiky boots, seemingly seven feet tall.  "For the last time, you know every fucking thing I know.  You issued an ultimatum earlier today, and I intend to have you out in the field with your little agents helping solve this fucking case, because I have to get away from you."

"I want you gone more than you could ever know," he spat.  He stood right in her face.  "You're lying to me, Pax, I can smell it.  Don't think for one moment I won't have you tailed.  From here on out, watch your back and watch it carefully.  You _will not_ fuck me over again."

She sighed.  "Frank, I'm not trying to fuck you over."

"The hell you say, Pax.  You've been doing it since day one and I don't buy it.  I know you, I was _you_, and I know the mentality.  I tried to help you back then, but you wouldn't let me.  If you had, your life would have turned out much different.  I'm giving you a chance to redeem yourself.  Don't let me down again."

His dark brown eyes were boring into hers.  Yes, he could see straight through her.  She was as transparent as her vodka.  She killed her drink in one large gulp.  He would tail her.  This was a new complication.  She would have to move faster now.  The target would have to die sooner than she thought.  

"What do you know," she spat.  "You know nothing about me, Frankie.  You enjoyed the shit out of bossing me around, but that's it.  I was never your responsibility, and I'm not now."  She dug a sharp finger into his chest.  "Fuck off, Frankie, fuck off and leave me alone.  Once and for all, get off my fucking back."

He slapped her hand away and stalked toward the door.  Right before he could touch the doorknob, he stopped abruptly as he heard a sudden crashing noise.  He turned around to glare at her.  The crazy ass bitch had thrown her empty glass at him, and if the booze hadn't addled her, the fucking thing would have connected easily with the back of his head.  If he'd had his gun, he would have drawn down on her.  He stalked toward her and took hold of her arm.  

Shaking her lightly, he spat, "You've never let anyone care about you, have you?  You've never had a friend, never had anyone with whom you could completely trust.  I tried time and time again to be that person, but you fucked it up before I could blink twice."

"You don't want a friend, Frankie, you want a goddamn fuck buddy," she threw back at him while desperately trying to free her arm.

"Maybe I do," he whispered harshly, "but it's the same thing you want right now, isn't it?  It was what you wanted back then, but the circumstances didn't allow it."

"Let me go, you scummy bastard," she cried.  

She wanted to be free of him, to break away and do what she came to do.  However, she wasn't so sure she could do it anymore, not after tonight.  She didn't want him to fuck her again, because it was more than obvious he was still in love with his ex.  She didn't want him to fuck her because his beloved ex was her hit.  What would he do to her once he discovered that she killed the mother of his child?  She knew.  He would hunt her down and torture her, even if it took the rest of his life.  Yet, she had the mission, she had a job to do.  She was loyal to the agency; they would let her go after this one last hit.  She owed them.

Pax grabbed a handful of his tee shirt, almost wishing he had hair on his chest to make it more painful.  This time, she took the initiative to kiss him.  At first, he tried to back away, but in relative short order, he gave in to his lust, loneliness, and anger, thinking _fuck it_.

"Fuck me, Frankie," she said against his lips.  "Put your hands all over me and fuck me."           


	8. The Deepening Well

THE DEEPENING WELL

Donovan hadn't intended on falling asleep.  The last thing he wanted to do was sleep in the same bed as Pax.  However, he couldn't move.  _We must put a stop to this.  We cannot keep this up_.  He hissed in pain as he sat up.  Shit.  What the hell had she done to him?  He felt as if he had gotten into a battle with some hellish wild cat.  There were dozens of scratches all over him, the most prevalent on his neck.  Had she tried to choke him?  Did he remember?  Damn it.  It was the vodka, the fucking vodka.  _Yeah, right.  Stop blaming everything and everyone but yourself_.  He stretched [or tried to, anyway], but he couldn't.  He was injured, physically and mentally.  His eyes caught sight of something in the small wastebasket by the bed.  He shook his head again.  _Dear God_.  It was a used condom, it was disgusting of course, but damn it was not something he wanted to see the first thing in the morning.  It was yet one more reminder of his continuing stupidity.  Thinking through the clogs in his brain, he recalled that Pax insisted he use a condom.  _I'm fixed, but you're still gonna wear this_, she had said.  _You ain't coming inside me again, bub.  That was gross and messy._  He had gazed at her incredulously.  She _was_ completely and totally cracked; he had no doubts whatsoever.  Again, she wanted to push his buttons, and by God, he allowed her to do it.  He tore open the package with his teeth and sheathed himself inside.  A moment later, he rammed into her, his lips nearly against her ear.  _You have what you want.  Satisfied now_, he had asked pointedly.  _Not quite yet, Spankie.  Gimme a minute.  _

He ran his hands over his face as he brought his body shakily to his feet.  The next thing that disturbed him was the fact that he couldn't see his damn clothes anywhere in the room.  What the hell?  Where had he put them?  He could have sworn he had left them scattered about in the room.  He knew they had survived after being taken off, unlike the other shirt.  Yet, they were nowhere to be found in the room.  Naked, he wandered into the living room.  Still nothing…not even his fucking shoes.  What had she done to his clothes?  He darted back into the bedroom, noticing for the first time that Pax was not in bed.  Had he been that oblivious?  _Fuck, fuck, fuck_.  Where were his fucking clothes?  As he entered the bathroom, he yelled out an indignant _goddamn her fucking soul_.  She had draped his clothing over the shower curtain rod and soaked them.  Oh yes.  He would kill her now.  He would choke her until her eyes and tongue lolled out.  He began limbering up his fingers at the thought.  She was still playing her godawful fucking games.  What purpose did she have?  That bitch.  That stinking sneaky bitch.

*  *  *

Pax walked away from her meeting with Weizmulder a little upset.  She was to do the job tonight.  She would only have one chance to end the game.  If she didn't, _her _life would end, no questions asked.  Tonight the former wife of Frank Donovan was slated to die.  Before meeting her lead op, she had gone down to check out Ellis.  She followed the same routine as she had the day before.  Perfect.  There were no vacant apartments across from Ellis' place, but Pax had noticed an abandoned building.  Perhaps it would do.  She had no problem climbing or finding the nearest fire escape.  She would do anything to finish the job and get going.  She wanted a major head start.  Once Frankie heard his ex-wife was dead, he would immediately come looking for her, because she would _conveniently_ be gone, just like before.  She checked her wristwatch and realized that Frankie should be out of bed by now.  Despite the ugly job about to unfold before her, she did find a moment to giggle.  She wondered what ol' Frankie would do when he found his clothes.  Knowing him, he'd put them on anyway and come after her.  She had had to do something to distract Frankie long enough for her to meet Weizmulder.  However, it wasn't the only reason she had played such a juvenile trick on Spankie.  It was just in her to be a bitch.  She couldn't help it.  It was bred into her, and couldn't be forced out no matter how hard she tried.  Pax drove her body forward.  She had a lot to do before nightfall.

She slid her card key into the slot and opened the door.  _Oh my God_.  Frankie was seated on the fancy, overstuffed sofa with his arm draped casually over the back of it.  He drummed his fingers impatiently.  He sat with his legs crossed, looking every bit the professional that he was, but he had not one stitch of clothing on his body.  Oh dear God.  She didn't know whether to salivate, laugh, or cry.  He was so pissed off at her, and she was surprised when he didn't come flying toward her.  He sat back casually as if he were waiting for a meeting to begin.  She didn't know whether to stay put or run.  Cautiously, not quite taking her eyes off him, she entered the room and closed the door behind her.  She stood against the door with her arms crossed before her chest.  Oh dear Lord.  She had to bite down hard on her lip to prevent the guffaws from bursting forth.  

"So how did you do it," he asked coldly.  "Did you carry them into the shower with you?"

That did it.  She couldn't keep the laughter at bay.  She doubled over with the force of her giggles.  Oh shit.  Oh damn.  He looked so…_odd_ sitting there.  She laughed so hard that she thought she might fall over and die.  Donovan did nothing at first.  He sat back and continued to glare at her, to drum his fingers.  Without warning, he sprung suddenly to life.  She didn't know he was coming toward her until he had grabbed her.  Her laughs turned into indignant curses as he lifted her body over his shoulder and carried her to the bathroom.  She fought back at him crazily, but it didn't break his grip.  When she saw what he was about to do, she began begging him [laughing the entire time] to let her go.  No way.  He had no intention of doing that at all.  He tossed her fully clothed body into a tub of ice-cold water, soaking them both in the process.

*  *  *

The team sat around the conference table impatiently awaiting the boss.  He had never been this late before.  They also noticed that the dreadful CIA op had yet to show her face, either.  Hmmmm.  Did that mean anything?  Was there a connection?  Surely not.  He acted as if he hated her.  In almost perfect unison, they watched as Donovan entered the room.  All of them wanted to know what he had been up to, but none of them were brave enough to ask.  It appeared as if he wasn't in a good mood.

Donovan ignored the questioning looks from the team and moved toward the coffee maker.  He poured himself a cup and sipped at it tentatively.  Before leaving the hotel, he told Pax not to come to the nest for at least two hours after he arrived.  He had no intention of piquing their curiosity.  He didn't want them to know anything that had been going on between him and Pax.  However, for the life of him, he couldn't understand why.  It wasn't as if he were cheating, now was it?  No.  He wasn't cheating.  Yet, why did he feel such tremendous, eating guilt?  Why did he literally kick himself each time he looked in the mirror?  It had to stop.  It had to stop right now.  He couldn't continue to do this to either of them.  Goddamn.  By the end of the week, he was shipping Pax's ass right the fuck out of here.

As he expected, Pax didn't listen to his instructions.  She sauntered into the nest exactly ten minutes after he arrived.  Despite the circumstances, she had changed and put herself back together quickly.  Today, she had reverted to her 'matronly' style of dress and she appeared halfway respectable.  Donovan moved away from the coffee maker as she approached.  He had no intention of standing next to her.  He was afraid he'd bonk her on top of the head with his mug.  Pax smiled a little, knowing that her presence unnerved him greatly, and took a sip.  She grimaced a little.  Goddamn.  It was obvious that he hadn't made the coffee this morning.  It tasted like recycled donkey piss.  Shit.  She drank it anyway.  She needed the caffeine, the alertness it brought.  Tonight hell on earth would arrive, and sleeping on the job wouldn't do at all.  Nope, nope, nope.  She turned toward the conference table and noticed that everyone was waiting impatiently for her to join them.  Frankie was the only one who wasn't looking at her.  His guilt was obvious.  The first time he had fucked her could easily be explained away, but not the second.  The second time said it all.  There were no excuses.  Of course, she knew nothing would come from their trysts, but he was still eaten alive by overwhelming guilt.  God.  She wanted so desperately to tweak his nose.  If she hadn't had an audience, she would have done it or died.

With a flourish, she approached the conference table and took a seat between Cody and Jake.  Cody seemingly shrank away from her as if he were afraid she'd bite.  _Well, I have been known to bite.  Take a look at Spankie's shoulder, and you might see some evidence_.  Anyway…she crossed her legs and sipped at her coffee as if she were attending some lavish tea party.  "Tomorrow night, we make our move.  The rogues will be in position at the federal building downtown.  The targets are meeting there for some type of political powwow.  I'm a bit murky on the details.  Anyway, there are two guys, and four hitters.  They do that to distract law enforcement, no one knows whose bullet killed whom.  Very popular move among those who take out politicians."  Of course, her words were bullshit.  She had no intention of being there by tomorrow.  Once she had cleaned Ellis, she was bound for D.C., and then parts unknown.  "I can't be seen with your team."

It was the only phrase that brought Donovan around.  He set his coffee cup down with a hollow bang.  "What do you mean, Pax?  You can't be seen with us?  Why not?  Doesn't your lead op know you're here, working with us?"  He leaned toward her, suddenly not giving a tin shit if there were witnesses sitting around.  "Is this part of your game?  Are you conveniently putting yourself somewhere else?"  He was staring at her intensely, boring his eyes into her.  "You will be there, Pax, even if I have to pick you up and carry you there."

She leaned toward him, matching his stony glare.  "Frankie, you are one paranoid fucker.  If a rogue spots me, bang, I'm dead.  Do you want me dead, Spankie?  Do you want your fuck buddy murdered in cold blood?"    

"_Fuck buddy_," Cody spat, unable to keep silent.

Donovan shot him a loathsome look before his eyes returned to their intended target.  He was closer than ever to killing her.  He felt the weight of his gun resting against the side of his hip.  It was right there, just mere inches away.  Three seconds and the game would end for all eternity.  "Your behavior is inappropriate, Jonella.  For that, you will not be in the field at all.  You will stay under the watchful eye of Cody and Monica.  Do you understand?  You will be there, but you will be watched and watched carefully.  Once this job is done, I will personally see to it that you get on the earliest flight possible.  You have done nothing more than waste our time."  He had given her this speech before, but he wasn't certain that she had been listening.  What was her purpose in humiliating him like this?  "If you don't comply, it ends here.  Today.  Make your choice, right here, right now."

Casually, she sat back in her chair and took another sip of the bitter coffee.  "I'll do whatever you want, whatever you command, just like I do in bed," she spat.

He clenched and unclenched his fist.  She did this on purpose, he realized.  She didn't like for anyone but her to have the upper hand in anything.  He couldn't let her get to him, because it was exactly what she wanted.  She had done this from day one, and this was the last time he'd be played by her hands.  "I repeat, your behavior is inappropriate, and I won't tolerate it.  This is the last time we meet with you.  You return tomorrow night.  If you do not, I will hunt your ass down and drag you here if I have to.  Is that clear?"  She didn't immediately answer.  "_Is it clear_," he spat through clenched teeth.

"Oh yeah," she said, nearly shaking.  It was all clear.  It didn't matter what he said or did.  After tonight, it was over anyway.  When he came after her, there would be no one there to snag.  "Come find me whenever you need me.  You know where I'm staying."

*  *  *

Later that afternoon, Donovan was holed up in his office again.  The team was downstairs working out the details of their assignments for the following night.  After Pax left, he had immediately dismissed himself.  He needed time to collect himself.  He needed something solid and real.  He realized that by the beginning of next week, he would have Stasia with him for a while, but he needed to see her now.  He picked up the phone and made the call.

*  *  *

Remy hadn't wanted Donovan to come over.  The threats from the phone calls were still fresh in her memory, and she was utterly terrified.  However, once she heard his voice, she couldn't deny him.  Thankfully enough, Renata had made herself scarce.  When Donovan was around, Renata tried playing the nosy busybody.  She didn't understand the circumstances, didn't realize what would have happened to Donovan if she had remained married to him.  When he arrived, promptly as usual, Remy allowed him inside the apartment.  She closed the door behind her quickly as if thinking that someone was watching her.  Stasia was playing contentedly in the middle of the room until she saw her father.  She squealed excitedly and ran toward him on her sturdy, toddler legs.  He leaned down to scoop her up in his arms, and when he straightened his body, Remy saw three long scratches along his neck.  They appeared to have been made by fingernails.  _Okay_, she thought, _he has someone else_.  _Of course he does, you dolt.  Look at him.  How long did you think he would be single?  Did you expect him to pine over you for the rest of his life_?  Divorce meant moving on, finding new lives, and new lovers.  He had apparently done all three.  

Donovan felt Remy's eyes on him, and he met her gaze.  It seemed as if she had been staring at his neck.  He nearly drew his hand up to try and find what caught her attention, but he resisted.  She was staring at the scratches that Pax had made.  _Oh God, she noticed.  She saw them_.  Of course, she saw them.  How could she _not_ see them?  They stood out like accusatory fingers.  Then again, that was exactly what they were.  Although they were no longer married, he still felt as if he had been cheating on her, betraying her.  He grew nine shades of red before turning pale.  She had known him long enough to decipher his feelings, and she immediately felt the need to say something.

"You don't have to act so guilty, Frank," she said softly.  "It's okay.  You don't owe me anything, even fidelity."

The look in her beautiful eyes nearly killed him.  He was tempted to put his daughter down, go outside, dig a hole, and bury himself in it completely.  His heart ached so very furiously, and for a moment, he felt as if he might pass out dead on the floor.  He wasn't stupid.  He knew it bothered her, despite the fact that _she_ wanted the divorce.  He felt low, lower than low, he felt like some tiny scum-sucking amoeba.  He wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms and tell her he loved her.  _Fine way you have of showing that love, eh?_  He nearly started the whole schpeel about her not meaning anything to him, but he couldn't.  It sounded false and hypocritical.  Remy wasn't the only person hurting in this.  He felt immense pain, and even though Pax was a cold bitch sometimes, he was sure she did as well.  It was a bad situation that had gotten horribly worse.

"It's…it's not what you think," he stammered.  Goddamn.  That was worse than the 'she means nothing to me' speech.  

She held up her hands.  "Really, Frank, it's okay.  You don't have to explain.  More power to you and her."  She wanted to turn away, but he would immediately know that she was devastated.  Of course, she was, but she didn't want him to see it.  In the back of her mind, she had been certain they would eventually reconcile.  Apparently, reconciliation was out of the question.  If she could have talked to him, perhaps the whole thing would have turned out differently.  

"Remy, I-"

"Frank, please," she insisted.  "It's okay.  I just don't want to talk to about it."  She moved toward the bedroom and looked at him over her shoulder.  "Stay with her as long as you want, I have a few things to keep me busy."  She disappeared into the bedroom.

Feeling like the heel that he was, he turned away and sat down with his daughter.  He glanced back at the door for a moment.  _I'm sorry I hurt you.  I wish I could take it back_.

Of course, Remy didn't have anything to do.  She simply didn't want to be near Donovan, to _see_ the evidence of another woman in his life.  She had no right to feel so jealous and betrayed.  After all, she had bellyached until he gave her a divorce, but he didn't understand.  He didn't know what she knew.  She shook her head and cried silent tears.  Dear God.  What had she done?  What could she do about it now?

*  *  *

The night sky was pitch black.  There was little wind blowing, making it a perfect night for a hit.  Earlier that day, Pax had found a fire escape on an abandoned building near Ellis' apartment.  She would have to shoot at a weird angle, but she had done that before.  It shouldn't create any problems at all.  She had donned form fitting jet-black clothing and had tucked all her wild hair beneath a tight cap.  She wanted to appear as nondescript as possible.  With the black sky and no streetlights, she had found the perfect platform in which to carry out her duty.  She stood in the chilly night gazing steadily into the window above her.  Across the street, the light suddenly popped on.  She put her binoculars up and gasped audibly [bad, bad move] when she saw Frankie entering the room with the woman.  What the fuck was he doing there?  _You idiot, he has a child with her.  He's there to see his fucking kid, you moron_.  _Get away, Frankie.  Get back.  Don't linger, because I won't fucking hesitate to shoot her while you're standing next to her_.  She waited and watched.  She saw Frankie turn before handing the kid to the woman.  _That's right, you bastard, leave._  He lingered a few seconds more before turning away.  Holding her breath, she waited.  She didn't want to burst forth just yet.  Frankie might still be within earshot.  He walked with long purposeful strides, and it wouldn't take much time for him to totally exit the building.  It wasn't that large.

Pax watched as Ellis began to pace the length of her room with the baby in her arms.  _Put the baby down, princess.  Put the kid down so I can put a bullet in your brain_.  Her breathing began to steady considerably.  Yes.  The feeling was taking hold of her now.  It wouldn't take long for her to react and take the shot.  _Do this last job, and it's over for you.  Go ahead, train the gun.  Train it right on her._  She watched as Ellis placed the child into her bed.  Perfect.  Carefully, slowly, Pax put down her binoculars and brought up her gun.  She aimed through the use of the telescopic sight.  Her breathing had steadied even more.  If she were to have had her blood pressure checked, it would have been very low.  It always happened that way.  Pax watched as Ellis came right up to the window.  _This is too easy, like shooting fish in a barrel_.  The sight on her super powered rifle rested right between her eyes.  When it came time to squeeze the trigger, the speeding bullet would enter her brain and put out her lights forever.  Her only regret was the thought of the kid baring witness.  Baby Donovan needed to become accustomed to violence; it was a way of life for her dad.  Her finger rested lightly against the trigger as she went into a near catatonic state.  She supposed it was how AOP's coped with the job.  _Pull the trigger.  End it.  End it once and for all_.  For the first time in her life as an assassin, Jonella Paxton hesitated.  The rifle fell out of her hands and hit the rusted metal below with a loud clanking sound.  This wasn't right.  She…she couldn't…couldn't do it.  Oh shit.  Her split second decision meant one thing and one thing only.  Jonella Paxton would need a cleaning.              


	9. The Wrath of Donovan

THE WRATH OF DONOVAN

Robert "Bobby" Weizmulder stood in the middle of his own luxury suite.  He was at the window and watched the sun rise slowly.  He and Pax were to have been out of the city by this time, but they were not.  She was to have come to him to report that the cleaning had been completed.  As of now, she had yet to show her face.  He had called down to her room more than a dozen times, but she had yet to return his messages.  Weizmulder had been an AOP for quite a few years, and he knew the score.  He wasn't a stupid man.  If a subordinate AOP didn't appear after a cleaning, it normally meant that there had been no cleaning at all.  Of course, he was aware that Pax had completely and thoroughly fucked up the hit.  Right before an AOP was to be cleaned, Weiz was called in to 'monitor' them.  His superiors had directed him to keep close watch over Pax.  They were afraid she would run.  Pax had been whining for months that she wanted to leave.  AOP's were rarely allowed to retire.  Most of them were cleaned before they had the chance.  The Angels were a twisted bunch and wanted more power than the CIA was willing to give them.  So, sometimes, they started trouble.  When that happened, they were cleaned.  However, he had no fears that Pax would turn rogue, but he had plenty of fears that she would run straight to Donovan, especially now that she knew his ex-wife was her hit.  Pax had done exactly what he thought she would.  Actually, this job was more of a setup than a test.  Despite what she said, Pax respected Donovan, and wouldn't purposely set out to destroy his psyche.  Killing his ex-wife, the mother of his child, would definitely fuck him up more than anything ever could.  Yet, there was something else Pax didn't know.  Something she would never hear from him.  Weiz had been the 'gruff voice' responsible for the series of phone calls Remy Ellis-Donovan had begun receiving right before she divorced her husband.  It was the only thing he could think of to remove her from Donovan.  If Ellis had remained with her husband, there would have been no way that the cleaning could be completed.  His little phone communications had opened the door for Pax, but she had slammed it shut.  He would find Pax, clean her, finish her hit, and then ship out.  Time to go.  Time to move on.

*  *  *

Pax hadn't returned to the hotel after the botched hit.  It would be the first place Weiz would come looking for her.  Not only that, but the arrogant lead op also chose the same hotel.  She wasn't afraid to die, but she didn't want to die for not completing a total, unnecessary murder.  _You're a fucking hypocrite_.  How many people had she taken out?  Did she not consider those murders?  Of course not.  She considered them 'hits.'  However, the job of taking out Frankie's ex-wife seemed more like a senseless killing.  She didn't see how the FBI and the CIA thought of what had happened to her as something that would necessitate a cleaning.  If she had been the rogue agent, if she had done something wrong, it would be different.  Apparently, she hadn't done a thing, not a damn thing.  She had simply fallen in love with the wrong man at the wrong time.  _Oh my shit_.  Would Weiz want to continue with the hit?  Would he send someone else?  She sighed when she realized she had two choices.  She could either take a chance to contact Frankie and let him know what was going on, or she could run.  If she ran, the Ellis woman was sure to die.  If she stayed and told Frankie, it would be _her_ head on a stick.  She was caught and didn't exactly know what to do.  Pax wrapped her arms around her quaking body.  She had hidden out beneath an overpass.  The noise from the early morning traffic thundered above her head, rattling the girders.  Half a dozen homeless people who considered this area their place of rest surrounded her.  She ignored them, even though a couple of them were staring at her curiously.  She supposed she looked horrible in her stealth uniform and tight cap.  Fuck them.  If any of them tried to approach her, she'd kick their asses.  She had to have a place to hide, a place to stay until she made up her mind.

Pax was mad at the world and especially mad at herself.  She had never had to run to anyone for help.  She didn't like relying on others.  At an early age, she had learned that if she counted on another human being, she'd end up hurt.  Years ago, she could have gone to Frankie and asked for his help, and he would have agreed without the slightest hesitation.  She hadn't wanted help, hadn't wanted anyone to 'save' her at all.  She was afraid that if she had gone to Frankie, he would let her down in the end.  She had come to expect it, even from a fellow who claimed to be the only person willing to listen to her.  What he had said to her earlier was true.  She had never allowed Frankie to be her friend, never allowed him to care.  When he tried to move in and help her, she had pushed him away, was even tempted to shoot the fuck [but he had beaten her to the punch].  Of course, Frankie was wiser than her, smarter than her, and she should have fucking listened to him.  Hadn't he told her that she would be used and dropped by the Angels?  She didn't listen, didn't feel as if she needed to.  Another part of her was terrified at the prospect of going to Frankie now.  She had tried to hit his ex-wife in the presence of their daughter.  Would he help her now?  Would he even try?  Goddamn, goddamn, goddamn.  What was she to do?  What the fuck was she to do?  Daylight would save her for now.  She would have to have her mind made up by dusk.  This particular Angel squad didn't hit in the daytime.  She would return to the hotel, sit, think, and brood.  

*  *  *

The rays of the rising sun began to peek through the closed blinds of Remy's bedroom window.  Soon, very soon, the alarm clock would begin its annoying series of beeps to signify the beginning of the day.  She felt rotten, absolutely rotten.  She turned to her side and shut off the alarm before it went off.  In her current mood, the sound would only split open her head.  She decided to bypass work today.  She couldn't get out of bed no matter how hard she tried.  Holding out on Donovan had begun to wear on her.  She wanted so badly to tell him the truth.  However, she couldn't, not now.  The marks on his neck made it clear that he had another woman in his life, and there would be little room for her.  She had made some really stupid mistakes, and this was the worst.  But what could she do?  _You could have talked to your damn husband, you dolt_.  Yes.  She should have gone to Donovan immediately.  He was a goddamn federal agent for Pete's sake.  Had she thought he couldn't protect himself?  She was a damn idiot, a stupid, silent damn idiot.  She wondered if it was too late to talk to him.  She didn't expect reconciliation.  All she had to do was think about those scratches to know that.  However, she wanted him to understand her motivation.  It wasn't that she couldn't fathom the idea of remaining married to him.  Her selfishness had drifted.  The weeks apart from him had shown her that she didn't want to live without him, even if she couldn't tolerate his job.  She knew she could live with it now.  She had begun to live with it again that weekend they'd spent making love.  At that point in time, nothing else mattered but having her husband back in her arms.  She hadn't given a second thought about the phone calls, until she received another after Donovan left.  It was getting harder and harder to face him and continue the façade of the pissed off ex-wife.  Eventually, he would push her enough and she would blurt it out.  She needed to see him, needed to speak to him.  Even if he denied her [and she was certain he would], at least her conscience would be clear.  She reached for the phone at her bedside and dialed the number.  The phone rang and rang.  She would have to go to him.

*  *  *

Donovan had gone to the nest a bit on the early side.  He needed time to think.  It was difficult at home.  There were too many damn distractions.  He had paced the expanse of his floor crazily.  He had called Pax's hotel room nine dozen times, but she hadn't answered or returned his messages.  He was certain she had split.  As he knew, she had been playing the team as if they were violins.  He didn't quite understand why she had decided to flee.  Had there been another hit?  Was there another target neither he nor the team knew about?  Pax had fucked him over [literally and figuratively].  He was shaking with anger.  _Fucking Jonella Paxton, you will rue the day you laid your eyes on me.  I will make the remainder of your life hell_.  He scribbled an impatient note, darted downstairs, and left the piece of paper stuck to a computer monitor.  Someone [probably Cody] would surely find the note.  He ran out the door on a completely private mission.

*  *  *

Pax dragged her aching body into the suite.  She wanted to take just enough time to shower, change, and pack.  Taking the coward's way, she decided to run.  She was certain Weiz would eventually track her down, but she didn't give a ripe fuck.  She couldn't kill Ellis.  Frankie fucking loved her.  It was so very obvious in the way he spoke so hurtfully about her.  She didn't want to ruin that for him, didn't want to ruin it for their kid.  She couldn't imagine taking the woman's life and leaving her kid as a witness to that horrid act.  She was cold, but not _that_ cold.  Just before she entered the bathroom, she paused.  She had had second thoughts of running away.  She wanted to talk to Frankie, to prepare him, but goddamn, she was viciously afraid.  Frankie had been fucking her, true, but he didn't love her.  He didn't want her, not like he wanted his ex.  If she were to go to him with this, he would kill her.  She had no doubt about that.  Fuck it.  It didn't matter any longer.  She didn't think she'd live past tonight anyway.  Someone, be it Frankie or Weiz, would kill her.  She was honestly ready now.  If she weren't such a coward, she'd take her own life and save them the trouble.

Twenty minutes later, Pax left the bathroom, still dripping water from her shower.  She didn't bother getting dressed.  She didn't have time; she had too much shit to pack.  She laid her revolver out beside her suitcase.  She wanted it near just in case Weiz decided to pay a most unwelcome visit.  He was probably faster on the draw than her, but she wouldn't allow him to shoot her without squeezing off her own round.  She had never packed so fast in her life.  She had one suitcase full within five minutes.  She grabbed her second and began tossing more of her shit inside.  She was coherent enough to remember to leave clothing out to wear to the airport.  It just wouldn't do for her to go to the fucking place wearing nothing but a smile.  She stalked into the bathroom and stole one of the plushy hotel robes.  She tossed it carelessly into the suitcase and then began to grab double hands full of panties and bras.  She had no idea why she had brought so many pieces of fucking underwear.  No one had really seen them, now had they?  Well…almost no one.  Frankie had torn off a couple pair, hadn't he?  Goddamn.  She shook her head.  She couldn't let the fucker get to her, couldn't allow thoughts of him to disrupt her plan of escape.  _Goddamn, don't tell me I'm starting to get a conscience all of a sudden_.  Shit, shit, shit.  Frankie's morals were penetrating her brain as much as his dick had penetrated her body.  Fucker.  Why did that fucker rub off on her every time she was around him?  _Disgusting fucking bastard, I'd like to kill him so he can never rub off on me again_.  She snapped the second suitcase shut and turned to retrieve her clothing.  At that exact moment, she heard the unmistakable clicking sound made when a card key was slid into the slot lock.  Tensing, she grabbed her gun and aimed it at the point where she assumed Weiz's head would be.  He was a tall skinny fuck like Frankie.  Her finger danced lightly upon the trigger.  This was her gun, and it didn't take much pressure to make it go off.  She wanted to see Weiz's face as she put a bullet in his brain.  The door came open, but it wasn't Weizmulder.

"_Motherfucker_," she cried.  "What the fuck are you doing here, Frankie?  How the fuck did you get a goddamn key?"

He took note of the two suitcases.  She was running, just as he expected.  The fucking bitch had intended to do it to him again.  "I told the clerk that I was your lover," he sneered.  "He saw me leave your room before, so it was a believable story.  Put the gun down, Pax.  I'm unarmed."

She sighed deeply and lowered the gun.  She shouldn't have done that, but she was tired and unfocused.  The moment it was safely at her side, Donovan rushed her.  She had little time to react.  He grabbed her arm, spun her around, and threw her body down onto the bed.  He came down, nearly on top of her, and held her hands behind her back.  Her face was momentarily buried in the covers and she was more than tempted to suffocate herself.  Seemingly reading her mind, Donovan shifted his weight the slightest bit and turned her to her side.  He would not let her die by her hands.  He intended for her to die by _his_.  He didn't enjoy the emotional turmoil eating away at him.  He seemed to feel the full spectrum of emotions and it made his head ache sickly.  

"You were fucking leaving, weren't you, Pax," he asked through gritted teeth.  "You were playing us just like I said, weren't you?  You were lying the whole time, weren't you?  _Weren't you_," he roared at her.  "Start talking, Pax, or I'll turn you over to the FBI and let them ship you off.  They will, you know.  They dislike CIA rogues, especially those who fuck up on purpose.  If you don't start talking, I'll break your fucking arm, do you understand?"  Of course, he had no intention of breaking her arm, but he had to put the fear of God in her.  For the last time, she would accept his help whether she wanted to or not.  "What's it going to be, Pax?"

"Let me go, you fucking pig," she snarled.  She had forgotten how strong he was.  He had positioned his body in such a way as to completely disable her.  She couldn't use her arms, legs, or teeth.  "I can leave any fucking time I get ready.  You're not my fucking lord and master.  Let me go, Frankie, let me go.  How the fuck can I defend myself, you prick?  I'm fucking naked on the bed!"

"Yes, I realize that," he said calmly, "but I don't trust you.  I'm not letting go, not until you tell me what the hell is going on.  Is there a rogue hit or is it bullshit?"  She refused to answer.  Goddamn.  He didn't want to hurt her, but by God, he would get an answer.  "Tell me, Pax, or I swear to God I'll snap your fucking wrist.  _Is there a rogue hit_?"  She wouldn't answer, wouldn't utter a single syllable.  "Pax, fucking talk to me.  Tell me what's going on.  For once in your life, trust me; tell me what's going on.  If there is no rogue hit, then why are you here?  I cannot help you unless you're totally straight with me.  _Answer me, Pax_."

"Let me go," she said, "Let me go and I'll tell you," she whispered.

"No you won't, Jonella.  You will tell me like this where I can control you.  I'll ask again.  Is there a rogue hit tonight?"

"No.  It was a dummy hit, one to hide the real deal," she said.  "You were right all along, Frankie.  I was playing you, like I played you before, but to a much larger degree.  I pushed your buttons to distract you, to throw you off my trail, but I see it didn't work.  I think I was sent here as test of my loyalty to the agency.  I think Weizmulder is setting me up to be cleaned."

Although she didn't see him do it, he closed his eyes momentarily and shook his head.  Even though he had known she was fucking with him, it was still a shock.  "Why are you really here?  Who did Weizmulder want you to take out?  You had to have taken out someone, because that's why you're running.  Who did you hit?  Who was it?"

"Frank, please let me go.  I've already told you enough to get cleaned.  You won't have to kill me, because Weiz will take care of that, I'm sure.  I'm not going to fight you or try to run.  If you don't trust me, grab the gun and hold it on me the whole time.  I'm naked, Frank, I have nowhere to hide another weapon."

He had never heard her sound so vulnerable.  Goddamn.  Was she playing him again?  He didn't want to let her go, not for a second.  She had offered him her gun, but that didn't mean anything.  He had shot her once, and she knew he wouldn't hesitate to shoot her again.  However, she also knew he would not end her life, not really.  _I'm such a fucking trusting asshole_, he thought as he reached over for the discarded gun.  He stood up slowly and brought her body in an awkward sitting position.  He backed away with the gun in plain sight.  He watched as she moved toward one of her suitcases and snapped it open.  She grabbed the stolen robe and shrugged into it.  She could have easily hidden another gun in its deep pockets.  However, he wanted to give her a chance, a final chance to redeem herself.  

"Talk to me, Jonella.  Who did you hit?"

She didn't look up at him, but shook her head instead.  "Nobody," she said.  "I couldn't go through with it.  I tried last night, but ran before I finished the job.  The target is still alive, but in clear danger.  Someone else will finish the cleaning, I'm almost positive about that."

Sighing, he set the gun aside, just out of her reach.  He grabbed a chair from the small table near the bed and dragged it over.  He sat down to face her head on.  This was the first time he had seen her so very serious.  She hadn't uttered one single curse throughout her partial explanation.  "You ran from a hit?"  He had never known her to do such a thing.  For a moment, he wondered if she were playing him yet again.  "Why did you run?  I've never known you to be less than fearless.  Who is the hit and who ordered it?"  She had yet to make eye contact with him.  He reached over and lifted her chin.  "Tell me, Jonella."

She jerked her chin away from his hand.  She didn't want him touching her.  "I ran from the hit because I couldn't do it.  _I couldn't fucking do it_," she shouted.  "I couldn't do it because of you."

His brow furrowed.  "Because of _me_?  What do you mean?  I've never had an affect on you at all.  You've never listened to me before.  Why would you start now?"

She rolled her eyes and sighed impatiently.  "You don't understand, you fucking egotist.  It wasn't a result of any affect you had on me.  Don't fucking flatter yourself.  I couldn't do it because of _who_ the hit is."

Donovan didn't understand.  His confused look remained on his face.  "Am _I _the hit?"

Pax shook her head.  "No, not you.  I didn't realize who the hit was until that night in your apartment.  I had the documentation, but I destroyed it.  However, I saw her face in your apartment."

At first, he thought he hadn't heard her correctly.  Surely she wasn't talking about…  _No_.  "_Remy_?  You…you were sent to take out my wife," he asked slowly, carefully.

She couldn't speak.  She had never seen Frankie so shocked.  Instead of confirming what he already knew with words, she nodded.  In a flash, he was out of his chair and had grabbed the lapels of her robe.  He pulled her up to her feet, and for a moment, she was certain he was going to kill her with his bare hands.  He could do it.  He could do it very easily.  

Before he could say one word, she dove into her explanation, "I didn't know who she was until I saw that picture.  They wanted her cleaned due to the Wengrod affair.  We were sent to clean Edward Lomax, and she was the last piece of the puzzle.  I swear to fucking God, I didn't know."

"My wife, you were trying to hit my wife," he spat as if he hadn't heard a word.  His rage was so acute that he was very tempted to throw her out the window.  She had been sent to harm Remy, and he thought his head might explode before he felt the last breath leaving Pax's body.  "You're over, Pax," he spat furiously.  "You're fucking over."

"Listen to me," she spat.  "I couldn't do it, but that doesn't mean someone else can't.  Weizmulder will finish the cleaning, and he'll come after me next.  If you don't stop him, she's as good as dead."

He released her robe.  The move was so abrupt and vicious that she stumbled over backward on the bed.  She watched in a dazed sort of horror as he went for the gun.  He would shoot her now.  She was ready.  So help her God, she was ready.  Donovan turned back toward her with gun in hand, and she held her breath, anticipating the shock of the bullets.  Absently, he holstered the gun instead of shooting her.  He went to her and grabbed her arm, jerking her off the bed.  They stood almost against each other and she could feel the heat of his rage radiating off his body.  His eyes had gone from chocolate brown to black.

"Once Remy is out of danger, it would pleasure me greatly to turn you over to Weizmulder.  In fact, I wouldn't mind cleaning you myself," he whispered severely, "but I don't play that game.  You fucked with me, with her, and our daughter.  If any harm comes to her, you will not see the light of day again.  I will make sure of that.  You dragged her into this and you will drag her out.  If you refuse to assist, I will not hesitate to put a bullet in your brain.  No bluff."  He released her again and held the gun on her steadily.  Suddenly, he was another person.  He wasn't Frankie.  He was that psycho CIA agent who could kill with his bare hands.  "Get dressed.  Right here, right now.  _Move_."         


	10. Love And Hate Collide

LOVE AND HATE COLLIDE

As Donovan shoved Pax's body along to his car, he wished a thousand times that he had brought handcuffs with him.  He didn't trust this woman, would never trust her again.  He couldn't believe the way she had told him about the hit.  It seemed as if she expected him to simply take the news, feel happy about it, and thank her for telling him.  Fuck that.  He would never feel that way.  Regardless of the divorce, despite the fact he had been fucking around with another woman, he still loved Remy; his heart lived with her always.  He held onto Pax's arm tightly, knowing that if he didn't, she would run.  Yet, she hadn't attempted to break away at all.  She was completely resigned.  Donovan had never seen her like this before.  She actually kept her mouth closed during the ride over and while he handled her roughly to get her inside.  Like some horrid cliché scene in an old gangster movie, he was tempted to take her for a little ride.  He took her lead.  He said nothing to her, he couldn't.  Before, she had just annoyed the piss out of him, but now, he thoroughly and truly hated her.  

As the two of them entered the nest, there was an additional person waiting along with the team.  Remy.  He stopped dead in his tracks and momentarily lost interest in Pax.  She stood back with her arms crossed.  Her eyes were fixed curiously on him and the woman he had dragged into the room.  Although no one had said anything to that fact, she was certain this woman was the one he had been sleeping with.  She didn't know how she knew this, but something about the way he was looking at her gave her that idea.  The woman he was holding onto had also fixed her eyes on her.  Remy saw something in them.  Recognition?  How could that be?  How would she know her?  Remy had never seen the woman in her life.  

Donovan felt his face turning white from shock.  He didn't understand why she was here, but he definitely needed to talk to her.  He noticed that Remy was watching he and Pax carefully, cautiously, as if she knew that they had slept together [_slept my ass_].  He had no time for this confrontation, had no desire to have Pax anywhere near Remy, especially considering that Remy was slated to be cleaned.  Without a word to either the team or his ex-wife, he shoved Pax along, directing her toward a vacant room in the back.  He thought there was a set of handcuffs in that room, and he needed to subdue Pax before he could glance at Remy.  Never releasing his hold on Pax's arm, he forced her along inside the room.  There was an old desk inside that no one used.  He thought there might be handcuffs in one of the drawers.  Pulling her with him, he slid open each drawer and began the task of hunting for the cuffs.  After a moment, he found them and snapped one of them on her left wrist.  Taking hold of the other cuff, he dragged her back into the room.  Five sets of eyes watched with great interest as Donovan pulled Pax with him.  Without a lot of TLC, he shoved her down into a chair and snapped the other cuff to its arm.  They were all awaiting an explanation, but he couldn't give it to them just yet.  He needed a moment to get his shit together before he could proceed without actually committing cold-blooded murder.

After he finally turned away from Pax, he approached Remy and took her arm.  Before he discussed the new mission with the team, he needed to talk to Remy about this crazy shit.  He turned toward them and noted their expectant looks.  Without casting a glance at Pax, he said, "Watch her like a hawk.  If she tries to escape, shoot her.  When I return in a few moments, I'll fill you in on why she's in cuffs."  He then afforded Pax a glance.  She was looking up at him with a mixture of sorrow, hatred, and anger.  The emotions were painted clearly in her eyes.  "Jonella, they have orders to shoot you, and none of them will have any trouble carrying it out.  Don't fuck with my team."  He didn't give her a chance to speak, and even if she did, he wouldn't have heard her anyway.  He had blocked out everything around him.  Quietly, he led Remy upstairs.  Once inside his office with the door safely shut behind them, Donovan leaned against the edge of his desk.  "We have to talk," he began.

Remy gazed at him and nodded.  "Yes, we do.  There's something I must tell you," she said, her voice urgent.

He shook his head.  "Whatever it is has to wait, Remy.  The woman out there, the one cuffed to the chair is a CIA assassin.  She is what the agency calls a cleaner or a Death Angel.  Her job is to find the targets her superiors send her after and take them out."  He sighed and focused his eyes on the floor for a moment.  This next bit of information would be the hardest to tell her.  Wengrod was in her past and she had buried him years ago.  He focused his eyes on her face again and saw that she was listening intently, as if she knew what he would say.  "She cleaned Ed Lomax because of his rogue status and for what he did to the senator.  According to what she said, you were the last element that had yet to be cleaned.  You're her target.  She almost ended your life last night, but couldn't go through with it."

She stared at him incredulously.  What he told her was absolutely absurd.  She had had nothing to do with Wengrod's misdeeds.  Suddenly, she felt a little on the faint side.  "I…I need to…to sit down," she said before falling into one of his visitor's chairs.  "Shit, Frank," she spat, "I think I…I understand the phone calls now.  Oh my God."  Her speech was broken, jerky.  She felt completely disconnected to the outside world.  Would the nightmare of Anthony Wengrod ever go away?  How long would she have to pay for that particular sin?  

Donovan grabbed one of the visitor's chairs and dragged it around to face her.  He leaned over and gazed up at her intensely.  "Phone calls?  What are you talking about?  What phone calls?"

She shook her head at her incredible, incredible stupidity.  If she had opened her mouth, none of this would have happened.  Neither hers nor his life would be in danger.  She then thought of her daughter.  The woman downstairs had tried to murder her while her daughter was present.  Dear God.  Oh dear God.  "They started not long before that weekend we spent together.  It was a man, I don't know who, but he had a very gruff, very scary voice.  At first, he didn't issue any threats at all.  He simply poked at me, giving gentle reminders of what happened with the senator, and then later with us.  The calls progressively worsened.  I ignored them, thinking they were some cruel hoax perpetrated by Wengrod's wife.  First and foremost Frank, our problems did begin because of my selfishness.  I _did _have a problem with your job.  But after being separated from you so long, I decided I could live with it, because I loved you so much.  I don't call our daughter Frankie to annoy you; I call her that because it makes me think of you.  When we had our weekend together, I fully intended to come back.  After you left that Sunday, I received another phone call.  This time, the man said if I didn't leave you, you would die.  I couldn't stay, couldn't let…let you die.  I understand the phone calls now.  Whoever this person is, he was trying to clear the way for this woman to come after me."

Donovan was completely and totally flabbergasted.  He had never expected to hear such a tale in his life.  It was almost too bizarre to believe.  "You divorced me instead of talking to me, telling me?  You put our daughter and us through this hell when you could have easily come to me instead?"  

For a moment, he was almost as angry at her as he was Pax.  He never thought he could be that angry with anyone else, but he was.  He stood up suddenly, needing to get away from her.  He went to his desk to find something to shatter, but there was nothing.  He spun around to face her again, and she had moved to the edge of her chair as if she were tempted to approach him.  His expression was enough to help her decide to sit back.  He was angry and hurt, completely perplexed by her confession.  He shook his head as if he didn't understand a word.  Actually, he didn't understand her motivation at all.  She chose divorce over telling him about something that he could fix.  Goddamn.  All the bitterness, coldness, and hurt had been an act.  She had actually convinced him that their crumbling marriage had been his fault, his career decision.  She had acted her fucking role to the hilt.  He couldn't scream at her, couldn't even look at or talk to her.  Instead, he thought of someone else:  Stasia.

"Is the baby with your sister," he asked.  She was afraid to say a word.  Instead, she nodded.  Without hesitating, he went around to his desk and grabbed the phone.  Thank God the phones had been equipped with anti-bug devices [Cody was a goddamn genius].  Impatiently, he stabbed out Renata's phone number and waited for her to answer.  When her voice chirped brightly over the line, he didn't explain, converse, or chat her up.  "It's Frank, Renata.  Take Stasia to your parents.  It's not safe for either of you there."  A pause and then Donovan's weary sigh.  "I don't have time to explain, and you don't have time to fuck around talking to your sister.  Take my daughter and _go_.  Don't make me tell you again."  He slammed down the phone and fixed his eyes on his ex-wife.  "You stay here.  Don't move a muscle.  Every fifteen minutes, I want you to call and check their progress.  If they're still at Renata's apartment with an hour, you come for me, and I'll ensure they go, even if I have to take them myself."

Donovan didn't linger much longer with Remy.  There was still too damn much to do, too damn much to prepare.  Betrayal had hit him on two sides and he was literally reeling.  However, he had no time to ponder the hurt or anger.  He would shut them out and deal with it later.  He left Remy behind and went downstairs to update the team.  When he laid his eyes on Pax, he nearly growled at her.  The crazy, brazen bitch sat with her legs crossed casually, as if she didn't have a care in the world.  He was tempted to give her something to care about.  _She's playing you again, tweaking you.  She's up to the same old shit.  Don't fall for it again_.  His buttons were immune to her.  She had provoked him for the last time.  Before turning away from her, he fixed her with a cruelly smug grin.  It was actually more of a sneer.  If he had listened to his instincts earlier, the bitch would have been dead by now.  However, that Frank Donovan had been buried years ago.  He would not revert back to that man again; he refused to allow her to bring him back to that place.  Not now.  Not ever.  He turned away from her, gathered up his crew, and led them all to the conference table.

Pax sat and stared at Frankie and his group.  They were speaking in hushed tones, completely out of hearing range.  Of course, they were doing this on purpose.  No one fucking trusted her now, if they ever had.  She couldn't blame them, but she didn't want to be fucking treated like a goddamn criminal.  She understood Frankie's anger, understood his need to kill her.  By God, she had _wanted_ him to kill her.  It was her only way out now.  Surely by now, she was at the top of Weizmulder's cleaning list.  It didn't matter.  Nothing fucking mattered anymore.  She had been given a test and she fucking failed it.  She _had_ lost her touch.  The old Pax would have taken out the girl and then left without a care in the world.  Lo and fucking behold, she was new and improved.  Fucking yuck.  Fucking goddamn yuck.  She knew Frankie was afraid she'd try to leave, but she wouldn't.  She actually wanted to help the fuck, even after what he did to her, what he said.  If he'd take her out of her misery, she'd do anything he asked.  Every now and then, Frankie would break away from his team to fix his eyes on her.  There was still murder in his dark eyes and she begged him for it.  _Take me out.  End it for me, end this.  You can do it.  Only **you** can do it, Frankie, you witless fuck._  

After a short powwow, the group broke up and Frankie sent two of his agents away while the computer guy and the profiler remained.  Jake and Alex began to gather up their shit to leave.  Of course, both of them would have to walk past her.  Alex only graced her with a glance and a curt nod.  When Jake walked by, he literally eyed her as if he were appraising a particularly nice cut of meat.

_Another witless fuck_.  She looked up at him and snarled, "Get away little man, get away."  She watched as Jake looked her up and down, his face puckering with disgust.  "Little man, disappear.  Poof!"  

After the two agents disappeared, she glanced over at Frankie and noticed he had yet to leave the conference table.  He was clearly fucked up, but he was trying to hide it.  _It's no use, Frankie_, she thought, trying to transmit her inner voice toward him.  _You can't hide your shit with me_.  If he would let her out of these fucking cuffs, she could lead them right to Weizmulder, and then Weiz would take her out.  That was her plan; it was the only plan that wouldn't get fucked up.  Frankie wouldn't blow her away no matter how much she wanted him to do it.  Goddamn.  She wished the fucker would let her out of the cuffs.  Fuck, fuck, fuck.  As if reading her mind, Frankie finally pushed back from the table and came toward her.  He had seated her in a rolling computer desk chair, and she didn't understand his motivation for doing that until he gripped its arm and began pulling it along behind him.  She had to lift her legs to prevent them from dragging on the floor.  When he first brought her here, she had been resigned and calm.  Now, she had begun to get angry again.  However, she didn't protest as he rolled her along to an empty spot beside the conference table.  He didn't want to let Pax out of his sight.  She was a sneaky bitch and had wrangled herself out of worse traps than this.

He checked his wristwatch impatiently, wondering if Renata had gotten safely out of town with the baby.  He was tempted to check in on Remy, but he had no doubt that she would carry out his request.  _Request?  That was a goddamn order_.  It was, but he couldn't help it.  He didn't know what to do about this.  A woman he loved, a woman he loved more than anything outside his daughter, had betrayed him.  He could feel Pax's eyes on him, but he didn't have the energy to look at her.  He didn't want her to speak, didn't want her to breathe, but if she wanted to talk, she fucking well would.  He looked up as he heard his office door opening.  He watched in horror as Remy began to slowly descend the stairs.  What the hell was she doing?  He didn't want her to come out here at all.  _Why is that_, his inner demon asked.  _Do you not want her to face the woman you've been fucking behind her back?  Is that it, Spankie?  Oh the fun we will have right now.  Wahoo!_  

Remy saw that Donovan's eyes were glued to her.  She had done what he asked.  She had made sure that Renata and the baby were gone.  She had told herself that she wanted to come downstairs to give him the news.  However, that was complete and utter bullshit.  She wanted to see the woman, see the person who wanted to end her life.  Yet, there was something else, some desire that was a bit…deeper.  When she first saw the woman, she had had a feeling that she was the one who scratched up Donovan's neck.  He hadn't said anything to that affect, hadn't even given it off in his eyes, but she knew.  She had that inherent ability that most wives have when facing a husband's lover.  _He's your ex-husband, you dolt.  You made sure of that, didn't you?_  She made it to the bottom step and progressed no further.  Remy watched in amazement as the woman scooted herself around to see her fully.  Their eyes locked for a very long moment.  Oh yes.  This was she.  This was the woman who fucked her husband [_ex-husband_] and scratched him all to shit.  He had actually fucked the woman sent to kill her.  How could he be so damn self-righteous scolding her the way he did?  _Hello!  You divorced him.  Remember?  _

Pax wasn't a woman that was easily intimidated.  This time was no exception.  Somehow, some way, Frankie's ex _knew_ that he had fucked her.  It was all over her.  She locked eyes with the ex-Mrs. Donovan and did not break it for one second.  No half-assed wife of a witless fuck would dominate her.  Fuck her.  If it hadn't been for her, she wouldn't be alive right now.  _You should be kissing my spike-heeled boots, you bitch_.  Pax waited for the woman to approach her and take advantage of her vulnerable state [or what she would assume was her vulnerable state].  Actually, Pax still had an arm and two legs that would do nicely if she needed them.  _Don't worry, princess, I'm not trying to make him marry me or anything.  He's at your beck and call._  

Donovan sat back and watched the scene unfolding before him.  He figured Remy would launch herself at Pax at any minute.  He had no time for a scene, no time to break them apart.  He felt horribly stuck in the middle of some wicked and twisted tug-of-war.  He was not a pawn in their game of human chess.  He felt guilty enough already, but there was little that could be done about it now.  It didn't take a rocket scientist to ascertain that his ex-wife knew he had been screwing around with Pax.  It was all over her.  Goddamn.  Why had this shit happened?  If he could erase the last week of his life, he would do it in a second.  Two women.  Both had betrayed him in different ways.  He had betrayed each of them.  

"Remy," Donovan began, "would you please go back upstairs?  You shouldn't be down here with her.  Go back up until we decide what we need to do."

She nodded.  "Fine," she said.  "I came down to tell you that Renata left."

"Good," he said thoughtfully, distractedly.  "Go back upstairs."

Once she had gone and had the office door closed behind her, he fixed his eyes on Pax.  "Weizmulder won't move until dark?"  She said nothing, only nodded.  "Night moves," he said, continuing, "Not much has changed, has it?"  

Pax was stunned when Frankie actually spoke to her in a civil tone.  "No," she said.  "Would you consider letting me help?"

He fixed her with a hard, incredulous gaze.  "Do you think I'm naïve?  You set out to fucking kill my ex-wife, and you want to _help_?  Do you think I believe that shit?  _Do you_?  Fool me once, shame on you.  Fool me twice, shame on me.  Fool me three times, you fucking wind up in concrete boots."

"Goddamn it, Spankie.  Fucking look at me.  You took me down, had a goddamn gun on me.  You dragged me here, I had a nice staring match with your princess, but I didn't run.  I never tried.  Believe me, if I wanted to get away from you, I fucking could.  You have the goddamn scars on your body to prove it.  Drop the annoying tired ass clichés and trust me.  This time, _trust me_.  Whatever the outcome of this, I'm fucking dead.  So what the fuck does it matter?  I didn't hit your princess.  Isn't that fucking enough for you?"

"I don't trust you enough.  The fact that you were targeting Remy killed it right there," he said stiffly.

"Don't you listen, you fucking turd?  I didn't know she was connected to you.  When I found out, I knew then I couldn't go through with it.  I tried, but I couldn't do it.  I couldn't do it because I didn't want to fucking destroy your goddamn life.  I didn't want that to fall on my shoulders.  I didn't want to have you hunting me down for the rest of my life.  I didn't want to hurt your kid.  _I didn't know.  I didn't do it_."

"It doesn't matter," he spat.  "Don't ask me again.  We're dragging you along, you can count on that, but it won't be in any kind of helping capacity.  As far as I'm concerned, I'm holding you until I can send your sorry hide back to the very fucks who created you."

"Go ahead, do it.  Despite what you do, Frankie, I'm dead.  You should have done it in the hotel room when you had a free and clear chance.  No one would have ever known.  You were always good at sneaking in and out of places without detection.  That was your specialty, wasn't it?  That's why they wanted you to be an AOP.  Why did you let me live?"

He shook his head.  "I don't know, Pax.  Maybe it's because I would never stoop to your level.  Killing you would have been doing that, and I swore I'd never operate in such a fashion."

"Suit yourself, Frankie.  How many years has it been since you were a night moves op?  If you've lost that killer instinct, you've probably lost your ability to do that.  You either let me help or risk the life of your fucking princess."

He fixed yet another murderous gaze on her.  "The hired killer of my ex-wife wants to help save her life?  You're full of shit, Pax.  You know nothing about what I can or cannot do.  If you don't fucking shut up, I won't hesitate to duct tape your mouth closed."

"Fuck you too, Spankie."                 


	11. A Tentative Reunion

A TENTATIVE REUNION

Remy had remained in Donovan's office as he instructed.  She had called home a few additional times just to ensure that Renata and Frankie were gone.  Her sister had promised to let her know when they arrived safely at Mom and Dad's.  She had sat still for quite a while, but found that if she didn't get up and start moving, she might lose her mind.  Remy was tempted to go back downstairs if only to get her frustration out with the woman.  She had two areas she'd like to _discuss_ with her further.  The first of course, was the cruel hit.  How could anyone want to murder her so viciously while in the presence of her daughter?  How could anyone be so cold?  The woman sat downstairs casually, carelessly, as if she were there to lend support instead of nearly killing another human being.  The second was her inherent idea that she had been Donovan's lover.  She couldn't believe the jealousy coursing through her.  At the same time, she felt like a hypocrite.  In fact, she felt no better about herself since making her confession to her husband [_ex-husband_].  Deep down inside, she had expected Donovan to be less hurt than he actually was.  She thought he would simply forget it all and want her back.  Just like that.  _You are a dolt, Remy Miranda Ellis, and if he never looks at you again, you would deserve it_.  She had underestimated his hurt, his overwhelming feelings of betrayal.  She had made the ultimate, stupid mistake.  It had cost her the man she loved.  She paced about the office, every now and then glancing out the window.  Donovan was still downstairs with the woman, seemingly speaking to her.  Damn it.  She wanted to break it up, to end it, because her heart couldn't take it.  She didn't think he had any feelings for the woman either way, but it didn't prevent her from feeling betrayed.  The man who professed his love for her time and time again had screwed around with another woman just days after his divorce was finalized.  It hurt so much, and the longer she obsessed about it, the more it hurt.  After several minutes, she gave up on her pacing and sat back down behind Donovan's desk.  She expected Renata to call at any time now.

A bit later, Remy looked up as the office door creaked open.  She didn't realize she had been napping until the noise startled her.  It was Donovan.  He noticed that she had fallen asleep, and he tried to slip in without waking her.  He was a chickenshit again, plain and simple.  He didn't want to face her just yet.  His heart ached fiercely at what he considered to be her betrayal of his trust, his love, and their marriage.  He didn't have the stomach to do it, not now, not with Pax throw into the mix.  Remy knew he had been with her, and he still felt that eating guilt.  At the moment, he didn't know what to say to her, didn't know how to talk to her.  He walked over to one of the visitor's chairs and dropped into it tiredly.  He was more than ready for this crazy case to end and was equally ready to ship Pax out on her happy [_slightly bruised_] ass.  Donovan could feel Remy's eyes on him, studying him, as if waiting for him to initiate conversation.  He didn't have the energy to do it.  He knew they needed to talk, but he was in no hurry to make the first move.  If she wanted to rehash their divorce, it had been her idea; therefore, she could bring it up.  He refused, he absofuckinglutely refused.  He finally raised his head to meet her gaze.  She was staring at him curiously, waiting for him to make the first move, _expecting_ it.  Neither of them was right on this deal, and he would not grovel to her.

_So, he isn't going to talk to me_, she thought.  Was this the way he wanted to play it?  Did he want to ignore, ignore, ignore?  She couldn't stand it.  She couldn't sit there and stare at him.  "I see you're not willing to talk about this," she began.

He shook his head.  "It's not that I'm unwilling, Remy.  I don't want to rehash the bitterness or the devastation either of us felt during those confused moments while we were still married.  It's apparent the divorce shouldn't have happened at all, but I'm uncertain as to how you expect me to feel right now.  Rehashing it can't erase anything that was said.  It can't repair the irreparable.  It can't stop me from feeling as if I were to blame for your pain.  It can't.  It won't.  It's obvious that you truly never knew what you wanted, even from the beginning."  She started to speak, but he held up his hand.  "Wait.  I'm not finished.  I love you, Remy, you know that.  I know you love me.  But just voicing that each to the other can't bring us back to where we were before this.  It won't come close for a long time.  I think it's important for you to know where I stand before you say anything further."

Remy sat back and pressed the palms of her hands down onto the arms of the chair.  She needed to do something with them, because she was tempted to cross her arms before her chest.  He would immediately recognize the stance.  She used it to convey anger and insecurity.  Right now, both were coursing through her like an out of control flood.  His words hurt, but they also made sense.  However, her own feelings of betrayal pushed her to want to hurt back.  She fought it.  She fought it desperately.  She didn't want to push him away any more than she had already done.  "This woman, Frank, this assassin.  Was she…is she your lover?  Was she the one who scratched you?"

He sighed and absently caressed the bridge of his nose.  He wondered when she was going to bring it up.  At least she had done so in relative privacy.  She hadn't given Pax the satisfaction of a full-on barroom brawl.  He drew his hand away from his face and looked up at her again.  He noticed how she was gripping the arms of his chair.  Could he lie?  Yes.  Did he want to lie?  No.  "She was," he said with a brief nod of his head.

She exhaled a deep breath, one she had been holding for several minutes.  "I see," she said.  Of course, she had known this, but it had finally been confirmed.  "Do you…did you…have feelings for her?"

"Some," he admitted, "but not what I would consider love."  He wanted to explain further, to give her details of his difficult relationship with Pax from the past, but he was sure she didn't really want to hear that.  His confession not only startled her, but it had also done an amazing job on him as well.  He hadn't known what he was going to say until the words left him.  She nodded, conveying that she understood, but he knew she didn't.  Fuck it.  He didn't understand himself.

Remy tightened her grip.  She had to have something to do with her hands.  Dear God.   Had she thought she would ever have this conversation with her husband [_ex-husband …that's more obvious than ever, isn't it_]?  "What's next, Frank?  Where do we go from here?  Where _can_ we go?"

It was another difficult question he expected, but he really hadn't wanted to deal with it.  A week ago, if she had asked that question, he would have cheerfully fallen back into her arms and made love to her until he was comatose.  However, it was different, the situation had changed.  "I think staying separated is the best thing right now.  We both have so much shit to fix, so much to make up to each other, and none of it will be easy.  I can't just come back to you, and I don't think you could come to me, especially not now.  It would lead to a permanency I'm not prepared for.  It will take time, it will take a _long, long_ time."  Not wanting to drag this out any longer, not wanting to look at her right now, he stood and left her in his office.

Pax looked up as Frankie slowly descended the stairs.  Dreadfully nosy, she ached to ask him what happened.  It didn't appear as if they had played slap and tickle.  Frankie was distressed, but he didn't exactly look disheveled.  He loved his fucking princess and _had_ to have fucked her.  She watched as Frankie moved downstairs and walked past her.  

He knew Pax was watching him, but he didn't give a ripe fuck.  He had little time to deal with her whacked out ass.  If she uttered one single word to him, he thought he might strike her.  Right at that moment, he didn't want to strike her, not just yet.  Perhaps in a few moments when he calmed down, he could deal with her.  Dusk was several hours away, and they could do nothing until then.  He had sent Jake and Alex to track down Weizmulder, but he hadn't heard from them yet.  If they could tail him, their job would be so much easier.  Of course, as he sometimes lamented, _nothing_ was ever that easy.  Goddamn.  Goddamn it all.  As the day wore on, everything would become painfully awkward.  In order to keep both Pax and Remy alive, they would have to stay with him, stay near him.  Otherwise, neither would live past nightfall.  He felt as if _he_ were being tested by some cruel, evil higher power.  

"Frankie," Pax suddenly spat.  "Would you take off the fucking cuffs and let me help you with this?  Shove aside your stupid ass male pride and let me fucking do something about this shit.  You have got to let me do it.  Set it aside, you witless prick, and let me help."

Donovan didn't turn toward her at all.  Instead, he stalked toward the back room where he had dug out the cuffs.  She wondered if he was searching for the duct tape he had threatened her with.  The stubborn ballsy motherfucker.  Couldn't he just fucking be human for once and listen to her?  Yes, she had been sent out to kill his princess.  It was something she would never live that down.  She hadn't gone through with it, knew instantly from the moment she laid eyes on the princess that she couldn't.  However, she understood that Frankie would hate her anyway.  But goddamn.  His vicious ire didn't give him reason enough to let her fucking sit here and rot while Weizmulder took out his ex.  It was a fucking stupid move on Frankie's part.  She looked up as he came back toward her.  She couldn't quite see what he was holding, but she was certain it wasn't duct tape, not unless it was the totally invisible kind.  He stalked past her, yanking the chair arm as he did and spun her around viciously.  She had to hang on for dear life to avoid toppling over on her face.  He dragged around a chair from the conference table and pulled it over before her.  She supposed he wanted to get as close as possible so he could get the duct tape arrow straight.  He was a seriously anal fuck.  He held something in his closed fist, but he refused to show it to her.  

"Everything in my life was mapped out perfectly, Jonella, but it all went to hell.  Most of it happened before you returned, but a large portion of it came about because of you," he spat angrily.  "If you and your leader hadn't made those fucking phone calls to my ex-wife, none of this would have happened."

"Excuse me," she cried indignantly.  "What fucking phone calls are you talking about?  I never made any goddamn phone calls to your princess.  I didn't even fucking know who she was until you fucked me in your apartment.  I never fucking called.  I never fucking knew.  Weizmulder was behind that job, Spankie.  That's more his gig.  I fucking swear on my life that I didn't have a goddamn thing to do with those calls."

He studied her suspiciously.  Did he believe her?  Did he actually believe the bitch?  He was so fucking confused, he might believe her if she told him she was Santa Clause.  "Pax, I swear, if you're trying to fuck with me-"

She sighed before doing something so out of character for her, that Frankie nearly fell out of his own chair.  Her free hand came out and fell upon one of his.  She had never touched him like that before, and he had no idea how to react.  Stunned, he simply left it alone.  "I'm not, Frank.  All shit aside, I'm finished fucking around with you.  Let me help you end this, let me help save her life.  How many lives have I taken in the name of the CIA?  For once, let me help save one.  I'm begging you, Frank, I'm flat out begging you."

Donovan sat back in his chair, mainly to get her hand off his.  He felt incredibly awkward at that point and didn't like it one little bit.  "You are harsh, biting, and corrosive, Pax.  I cannot fucking believe I'm actually considering your request.  You are a foul mixture of acid and lye, some kind of human _Liquid Plummer_.  I have never known anyone who could eat away at me like you."  At that moment, he revealed what he had hidden in his hand.  It was a handcuff key.  "If I do this, if lay my trust in you, you have to follow very simple ground rules."  He held up his index finger and said, "First, you _will_ _not_ leave my side.  If I glance over and do not see you, I will hunt you down mercilessly, endlessly."  His middle finger joined the index.  "Second, I will have to keep my ex-wife by my side to ensure her safety because of what you have tried to do to her.  You _will not_ fuck with her like you've been fucking with me."  His ring finger joined his middle and index.  "Third and final rule, Pax.  You _will_ follow any order I give without question.  If you don't, I will not hesitate to shoot you, not to kill, only to disable.  I'll leave that to your squad.  If you can follow those three simple rules, I will allow you to help.  Know this, Pax; I am in charge here, you're not."

Pax watched as Frankie literally bore his eyes into hers.  She had never seen him look so deathly serious before.  He was giving her another chance, and she was actually touched.  No games.  Not this time.  "I'll do whatever you ask, Agent Donovan."

Sighing heavily, knowing that he was probably shooting himself right in the fucking foot, he took the key and freed her.  For a moment, he didn't take his eyes off her.  He expected her to take off, but she didn't.  She sat and quietly massaged her wrist, not making eye contact with him.  He knew she hated submitting to him.  She had never been one to follow orders at all, especially when it was he doing the ordering.  He waited patiently, giving her the chance to run.  In fact, he thought he _wanted_ her to run, to prove to him that she hadn't changed.  He wasn't sure he could deal with Pax if she surprised him by doing what he least expected.

Pax looked up at Frankie, completely deadpanning.  "Can I take a piss?"

"Disgusting," he uttered under his breath.  "Monica, take Jonella to the bathroom," he said as he buried his face in his hands.

He didn't see as Monica walked over to Pax to lead her away.  He kept his face buried.  He had to.  He felt the first stirrings of what he assumed was hysteria working on him.  He was grinning behind his hand, nearly laughing.  Dear God.  What had the bitch done to him?  What had she fucking done?  How could he put his trust in her?  How could he put the lives of his team and his ex-wife into the hands of this psychotic hag?  What had he done?  He hoped he could trust her, he hoped he would have no regrets by the end of the night.  However, he was more than certain that he had fucked up and fucked up big.  

When Pax came out, she saw that Frankie's ex had come downstairs again.  She had simply come down to update him about their daughter.  Pax had turned to remove herself from the scene, but Remy saw her before she could.  The instant she laid eyes on Pax, she went back upstairs.  Sighing, Pax went back over to the conference table where Frankie seemed to be in the throes of a nervous breakdown.  She actually felt badly for the fuck.  Most of this _was_ her fault.

"I can talk to her," Pax said suddenly.

Donovan looked up at her as if she had suggested they go skinny dipping together.  "_You_ talk to _her_?  I don't fucking think so, Jonella.  For one thing, I don't trust you enough.  For another, it's not such a great idea, not after…_everything_ that's happened," he said.

"Look, Spankie, I know she knows we fucked.  I'm not an idiot and neither is she.  I could at least tell her that it meant nothing.  I can save your marriage and her life at the same damn time.  I feel fucking generous today, like some twisted Mother Theresa.  Woman to woman, Spankie, let me talk to her."

He shook his head.  "No, Jonella, you don't understand.  I don't think either of us wants reconciliation right now.  It's not possible.  Nothing you say to her will help at all.  What you tell her will make the whole thing ten times worse.  She wouldn't listen to a woman set out to fucking kill her."  He sighed angrily.  "It doesn't matter.  What's done is done."  

"I'm sorry, Frankie, I'm truly sorry.  No bullshit.  She'll come around.  You've got good intentions, you're a halfway decent guy, and she'll snatch you back up.  She would be a fucking idiot if she didn't."

Donovan looked up at her.  What was this?  Pax acting _human_?  Goddamn.  He didn't know how to act.  "What are you saying?"

Shit.  She had gotten herself mired right in the goddamn mud without a four-wheel drive.  "Don't get me wrong, Spankie.  I don't want anything from you, and this is no game, but…"  _Oh God, he's going to make me fucking say it.  Goddamn bastard._  She sighed.  "You're a catch, okay," she spat out grudgingly.  "If you didn't disgust the shit out of me, I'd be all over you like white on rice.  If she can't see that, she's a fucking dolt.  That's all I gotta say."  Without giving him a chance to say anything, she walked away.  _Jumping Jesus on a fucking camel_.  She was all flustered and shit.  She didn't want him to see her like this.

He couldn't find the words to come back on that.  He was as flustered as she.  He stood up.  It was time to get his shit together.  Jake and Alex needed to get back here so they could plan.  Before he set the wheels in motion, Donovan approached Pax from behind and laid his hand on her shoulder.  She didn't move, didn't breathe, didn't do anything.  "Thank you," he said, his voice falling quietly into her ear.  "Me too."

*  *  *

Weizmulder was busily packing his things.  By midnight, he planned to be on a plane back to D.C.  The time between dusk and eight p.m. would be enough time to finish Pax's hit and clean the op while he was at it.  Weiz never made mistakes.  He made it a habit to do everything perfectly.  He never intended to need a cleaning.  Part of that avoidance would involve straightening out the mess known as Jonella Paxton.  If he did not succeed, he would have to look over his shoulder for the rest of his life.  He didn't intend on doing that.  Uh uh.  No sir.  No how.  Weiz wasn't averse to taking out more people than necessary.  If someone else got in the way, big hairy deal.  Pax's association with Frank Donovan would complicate things, but not to the degree where Weiz was worried.  

Donovan hadn't been with the agency in quite some time.  He was hired help for the FBI now.  He'd probably gotten soft.  His instincts were shot to shit.  If he needed any more proof of that, all he had to do was peruse the Ellis file.  There were a few _interesting_ photos of Donovan and Ellis taken while they were fucking around as witness/bodyguard.  The old Frank Donovan, the one he had heard of, would not have gotten so careless, even for love.  Then there were the _new_ photos taken of Donovan and Pax entangled in some steamy action.  _Bad move, Pax, very bad move_.  That alone would have sent her for cleaning.  He had labeled this as the 'Donovan file.'  It was almost time for ol' Frankie boy to be cleaned.  Perhaps he would do it anyway, before any orders came down to that affect.  Ops who left the fold weren't trustworthy, weren't loyal.  He had read some interesting shit in Donovan's CIA file.  Donovan mistakenly thought he was immune from the prying eyes of the agency.  He was not.  There were a few ops with access to the files.  He was one of them.  After what had happened to him during his tenure, Donovan wouldn't care to stir up shit, now would he?  Weiz could justify it.  Yes, indeedy.  He could justify almost anything he did.

Weiz snapped his suitcase shut and dug another from under the bed.  This was his special case.  He carried his own equipment, weapons he designed.  Most were ten times more powerful than what he could find on the street.  His special 'baby' could take out five people before they knew what hit them.  This weapon would be perfect for tonight's work.  Yes indeedy.  Time to do some cleaning.      


	12. To Stop A Cleaner

TO STOP A CLEANER

Jake and Alex returned to the nest and were stunned to see Pax walking around a free woman.  When they left, Pax was cuffed to a chair.  They were also a little surprised to see Remy sitting in the same room as Donovan and Pax, but she wasn't very close to either of them.  For a moment, both thought they had stepped into some weird, parallel universe.  When Donovan noticed the two agents, he called them over to the conference table.  They watched as Pax joined them as if she were a part of the team.  Jake found his eyes on the crazy bitch again, and when she felt his gaze on her, she looked over at him.  She hated this gruff little man.  She saw that he was looking her up and down again with apparent distaste.  Pax flipped him off coolly, casually, as if she were doing nothing more than waving at him.  He continued his eyeing game.  When would the little fuck stop looking at her?  She crossed her arms and continued to play with him.

"Woof," Pax said suddenly, startling all around the table.  Even Remy looked up.  "Unless you plan to jump me, you saucy little prick, I'd suggest you take your eyes off me before I make you eat them."

Before Jake could reply, Donovan spat, "Cut the shit, Jonella.  You're being counterproductive."  Much to his surprise, she sat back and tore her eyes off Jake.  "Sit down, Jake," he said.  "We don't have time to screw around."  

Jake seated himself as far from Pax as he could get.  "Why no cuffs, Boss?"  He didn't understand how Donovan could trust this woman.  He made it a point to keep his eyes averted.  He had no desire to get into a fistfight with the bitch.

Donovan cut his eyes at Jake.  "I don't have time to go into that.  All I can say is that she's going to help, and I don't want to argue with any of you about this."

*  *  *

Trusting Pax was a difficult feat at best, but Donovan had no choice.  She had told him where they would likely encounter Weizmulder.  Ironically enough, she had taken them to the ritzy hotel where she and Weizmulder had rooms.  Donovan's instincts told him this couldn't be the right setup.  There were too many people.  Then again, an assassin didn't necessarily shy away from crowds.  With their high power equipment, any location would be suitable.  Pax had told Donovan that Weiz would come for her first before taking after Remy.  Uncharacteristically for Pax, she quietly led Donovan, Monica, Cody, and Remy up to her room.  Jake and Alex remained on the fringe outside.  They were basically the lookouts.  Of course, trying to find a CIA assassin was harder than finding a white dot on a piece of typing paper.

Donovan killed the lights in the hotel room as soon as they entered.  They would need to keep the room as dark as possible.  He noticed [with a pang] that the room was still roughed up from his last encounter with Pax.  He found it odd that it hadn't been cleaned or straightened up.  Then again, Pax had probably left instructions not to disturb her.  From experience, he had learned she wasn't a morning person at all.  If a hapless chambermaid entered Pax's room when she wasn't ready to rise, she would have a black eye and a story to tell.  As Cody set up his portable 'office,' Donovan found himself glancing out of the window.  Where would he hide if he were in Weiz's place?  The roof on an adjacent building?  Obvious, but definitely doable.  It wasn't yet dark and they had a couple of hours with which to play.  It would take that long for Cody to finish setting up his gear.  He didn't think Weizmulder would try to hit Pax during the day.  However, anything was possible.  He moved back from the window for a moment, taking measures to keep out of the line of potential fire.  He glanced at Remy.  He had asked her to remain as far back from the window as possible.  If Weiz were tailing them [which he probably was], he would know Remy had accompanied the group to the hotel.  He could see that she felt sorely and awkwardly out of place in this room.  It was as if she knew what had happened here.  It was not a situation ideal for her, but he couldn't leave her behind, couldn't imagine allowing her to get hurt.  He wanted to say and do so much.  However, it was no use.

After tearing his eyes off his ex-wife, Donovan focused them on Pax.  He watched, curiously, as she slipped into the bedroom.  He wanted to follow her, as he didn't quite trust her yet, but at the same time, he couldn't move.  If he went with her, God only knew how it would affect Remy.  He wished one of them could go safely to another location, but it wasn't possible.  He felt Remy's eyes on him, studying him as he looked after Pax.  Of course, she didn't quite understand what he was doing, why he had to watch her.  He would give her three minutes, and if she didn't return, he would have no choice but to go after her.  Right before her three minutes had expired, Pax returned from the depths of the dark bedroom carrying a small black leather case.  He was familiar with those cases; he had seen his fair share of them.  She had brought in her weapon and apparently intended to use it.  Was she a nut?  

Without a word, he stalked toward her and tried to snatch away the case, but she held fast.  "I don't want you arming yourself," he stated stiffly.

She planted one hand firmly on her hip and tightened her grip on the case with the other.  "Frankie?  What the fuck?  You told me I could help; I think I need to be armed to do it."

"The hell you do.  Remember our bargain, Pax?  You agreed to follow orders, and I'm ordering you to fucking give over the case and back off."  He stood back and challenged her with his dark, dark eyes.  Sighing and uttering 'bastard' under her breath, she handed the case over.  He took it and tossed it toward Cody.  "Guard that with your life, Cody.  Don't let her touch it."

On the far side of the room, Remy sat back and watched the dynamics between Donovan and Pax.  It hurt a little.  The sexual tension between the two was more than obvious.  She didn't know from one minute to the next if he intended to attack her or take her to bed.  She wanted to be anywhere but here and couldn't watch this much longer.  As if sensing Remy's inner drama, Donovan finally backed away from Pax and busied himself with barking orders at Cody.  It seemed as if Pax had taken the same cue.  She suddenly became quiet and sedate.  She moved over to the high-rise window and began gazing out of it, wishing Weizmulder would shoot her and get it over with it.  Maybe then, Frankie could go back to his wife and have a halfway normal life.  Frankie had been right about one thing.  His life had been rocked from its foundation because of her.  Sure, Weizmulder had perpetrated the phone calls, had set up the catalyst that led to the divorce, but it had been her moves that truly ended it.  Hadn't it?  Oh yes.  It had.  She wanted to talk to the princess, to tell her to wake up.  He was there, he was ready for her, and all he needed was a nudge from her.  Pax glanced at Remy for a moment.  The other woman held her head in her hands.  _Get up and go to his ass, you fucking dolt.  Get up and bridge the gap.  He's receptive.  He's ready.  Move your stupid ass_.  She turned and focused her eyes on the window again.  She prayed for a bullet, prayed for it as if she were praying for a miracle.  She wondered how easy it would be to escape.  She could go to Weizmulder and let him take her out.  Perhaps she could exchange her life for that of the princess.  Weiz wouldn't go for that.  If he did, his name would appear at the top of the cleaning list.  Goddamn.  

Pax was still standing at the window when the sun began to set.  She noticed that the sky had begun to grow overcast.  If it rained, their task would prove more difficult.  Of course, it _would_ rain.  Every time Weiz did a job, it always seemed to rain.  She had asked him once if he were part Native-American.  It had to be the only way it could rain every time when he did a hit.  Her best work began at dusk, his when it rained.  It provided him with the best cover.  Weiz didn't waiver or falter.  Tonight, someone would die and she intended to be that someone.  She stood in a daze.  It was a daze that sometimes overtook her right when she was ready to make her own hit.  In that state, she neither heard nor saw anyone or anything around her.  She supposed it was some type of weird catatonia, but she didn't give a ripe fuck.  The feeling had begun to overtake her.  Lost.  Lost in a maze.  Nothing to see.  Nowhere to go.  Down, down, into a large black void.  Untouchable.  Unfeeling.  Uncaring.

A hand shot out and grabbed her arm.  It was the only outside stimulus that brought her around.  Otherwise, she would have kept spiraling down, spiraling to nowhere.  She came out of her daze slowly, as if awakening from a deep sleep.  It was Frankie.  His insistent voice came from far, far away.  At first, she couldn't hear the sound; she could only see his lips moving.  When she didn't immediately respond to him, he began shaking her gently but with enough force to bring her around.  When his hand came up to cup her chin, her ears finally began to work.  He was saying something like 'get away from the window.'  Oh.  Yes.  The window was a bad place to be.  Bad, bad girl.  She was a moving target.  Finally, she came out of her daze, and realized what he was trying to do.  She jerked her arm out of his grasp and slapped his hand away from her chin.

"Fucking let go," she spat viciously.  "I'm out of the window."

Donovan backed off and stared at her.  He recognized the symptoms.  She had gone into some type of 'detach' mode, as if she were readying herself for a hit.  In that state, she moved on automatic.  If her gun case had been within reach, she would have prepared her weapon and shot someone.  He watched her closely as she moved away from the window.  At that moment, his trust had dropped to nil.  "Jonella, are you okay," he asked.

She fixed a stony gaze on him and nodded.  "I'm fine."  Weizmulder was close.  He was moving in.  She didn't know how she knew that, but she did.  If she had stayed where she was, she would've taken the bullet meant for her.  It would have happened within moments.  She was almost certain of that.  "Watch your princess, Spankie.  Watch her carefully.  He's out there.  I can feel it."  Without another word, she slipped away to stand toward the back of the room.  She stood close to the princess, not because it was the safest area in the world, but she felt obligated to make the hit as hard as possible for her determined lead op.

If Donovan mistrusted Pax a little, Remy mistrusted her tremendously.  The moment Pax approached her, she seemed to shrink against the chair.  Part of her wanted to fly at the other woman and beat her senseless for daring to touch Donovan.  Another part of her wanted to crawl under the table and hide.  She acted on neither of those impulses.  Instead, she sat calmly, fixing Pax with a murderous gaze.  

For a moment, Pax watched Frankie.  He had given her direct orders not to speak to Remy.  However, as soon as his attention was drawn away, she intended to tell the princess to get a head about her.  Donovan finally focused his attention elsewhere.  The moment he approached Cody and Monica, who were monitoring the outside situation with Jake and Alex, Pax kneeled down.  She leaned her back against the wall and gave herself a moment before she burst forward.  

"You can listen to me or you can ignore me," Pax said quietly.  She noticed that the princess hadn't flinched, but she knew she was listening.  Remy's stiffness had increased tenfold.  "Whatever you choose to do, it doesn't matter one fuck to me.  I fucked him twice, I won't lie about that, but you shouldn't let that interfere with what you have.  I can almost guarantee you that he only did it because of what you did to him.  He is hung up on you so damn much, you don't even know.  Stop acting so whacked, and fucking go to him.  You've got a good man, and darlin,' those are fucking hard to find these days.  Drop the front and go to him.  If you don't, someone else could waltz in at any time and snatch him right out from under your perky princess nose.  Don't be stupid."

Remy glanced up at Donovan.  He was in full 'boss mode' now and barked orders at his team.  He wasn't paying attention to the little scene unfolding between her and the assassin.  She couldn't believe that the woman sent to kill her was preaching at her on how to reconcile with her ex-husband.  "Why are you doing this," she asked, keeping her eyes fixed on Donovan.  She didn't want him to see her talking to Pax.  "You wanted me dead."

"Wrong again," Pax said.  She was also watching Frankie.  If he made one move, she would dummy up.  "The rogues want you dead.  I don't.  If I wanted you to die, I could have taken you out in a heartbeat, but I couldn't do it to Frankie.  I couldn't do it to your kid.  I don't help people, it's not in my fucking nature, but I'm trying to convince you to get off your ass and talk to him before it's too late for you.  By the time this is over, you could be back home with him.  Do you understand?"

"You love him, don't you," Remy asked suddenly.

"This isn't about me, princess.  This is about you and him.  You're smart, I know this.  Do the smart thing, the _right_ thing.  If you don't take my advice, my opinion of you will change immediately.  Don't prove me wrong, princess.  I don't like being wrong."  She said nothing more to her.  She brought her body out of its crouching position and moved away a few inches.  _You love him, don't you_?  Yuck, yuck, yuck.  Oh goddamn gross.  Stubbornly, she crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against a corner.  _Love?  What the fuck is love?_

*  *  *

It had begun to rain and Weizmulder smiled.  He loved it when it rained.  It normally meant that his job would get done and get done well.  As he suspected, Donovan had led his team, the target, and the op right into his little trap.  They had housed themselves in Pax's hotel room.  From his vantage point, with his night vision goggles, he could clearly see inside the room.  They had left the drapes wide open.  Of course, he wasn't falling for it.  They thought they could set him up, but it would be difficult tracking him down once he squeezed off his rounds.  Both Pax and Ellis would be dead before Donovan made it downstairs.  At his angle, he saw his targets in the clear.  He had made it a point to give Pax this particular room.  There was basically nowhere to hide.  It would prove to be awkward, of course, but he didn't think either woman would suffer long.  The beautiful part of it all was that he wasn't that far from the room and no one inside had the slightest idea.  Or so he thought.

*  *  *

Pax knew where the fucker was hiding.  She wasn't as stupid as Weizmulder would have liked to think.  When he gave her this particular assignment, she wasn't naïve enough to believe he had given her this room that faced three different buildings at all angles as a coincidence.  She had been in the game long enough to know a target area when she saw one.  Perhaps she had inherently known all along that Weizmulder was setting her up.  Perhaps she had intentionally walked right into his trap.  After all, she _was_ ready to retire, wasn't she?  The window provided the opening for the hit, but if she could place her body strategically in the line of fire, she might end this once and for all.  The moment she realized that it was raining, she moved away from her corner and walked around to the front of the table.  She couldn't see Weiz, of course, but she knew where the shot would come from.  She knew it and had known it from the moment they stepped inside and she began staring out the window.  The shot wouldn't be clean or straight.  It would come from an odd angle, likely from the side of the window, speeding down, hitting the target where death would come on swift heels.  This move had been done too death.  It was an old trick of Bobby Weizmulder.  It was what he lived for.  Pax moved carefully, stepping up to Remy.

Donovan turned then, turned and watched in amazement as Pax seemingly floated toward the table where Remy had stationed herself.  A thought entered his mind:  _what is she doing_?  He opened his mouth to say something, perhaps to protest, but he didn't have time to speak one word.  The oddest thing happened.  A sound reverberated in the room, a soft _plink_.  From out of nowhere, a tiny hole appeared in the window.  At the next moment, Donovan watched in horror as Pax fell face first onto the table as Remy stood and screamed at the top of her lungs.  All this had taken no more than a few seconds, but to Donovan it had taken years, a long dry age.  As if in slow motion, he barked commands to Alex and Jake outside as he made his way toward the window.  Taking cover, he drew his weapon, his arm seemingly mired in thick, sticky ooze.  Blindly, he began to squeeze shots toward the direction where he assumed Weizmulder had ducked.  Several _plinks_ sounded off as the custom made weapon peppered the room with its bizarre pointed bullets.  Donovan wasn't sure where the bullets were landing, but he felt nothing.  With the same weird feeling of slow motion, Donovan loaded clip after clip, squeezing off each round crazily.  After several long moments, the _plinks_ ceased.  Voices around him and from the earpiece were shouting at him, telling him something he didn't want to hear.  Weizmulder had gotten away.  Somehow, the sneaky fuck had slipped past them and their gunfire.  At that point, he holstered his weapon and suddenly remembered Pax and Remy.  Real time began again.

Donovan turned toward the table in the corner and he saw that both women were down on the floor.  Not sure which was hit, he darted toward them.  He noticed Remy kneeling beside Pax's prone body.  He dragged Remy away from Pax for a moment and searched her body frantically for wounds.  "Remy?  Are you hit?  Are you…"  His voice died out immediately when he realized that Remy, physically, was perfect.  However, he couldn't say the same for Pax.  A small pool of blood had begun to form beneath her.  "Shit," he spat.

Remy sat back on her legs and shook her head incredulously.  "She…she took it, Frank.  She took…took it for me.  She _knew_ and she took it."

He tore his eyes off Pax's ashen face and settled them on Remy.  "Call for help."  Once Remy had moved away, Donovan's attention was drawn back to Pax.  "Goddamn you, Jonella.  Why didn't you say anything?  Why didn't you tell me?  Don't you die, you bitch, don't you fucking dare die."  He wanted to touch her, to smack her cheek, but he hesitated.  He didn't want to worsen her condition.  For now, she was breathing, but he wasn't sure for how long.

*  *  *

Donovan sent Remy back to the nest with the team.  With Weizmulder still on the loose, it wasn't safe for her to go home, at least not yet.  Of course, with every law enforcement agency in the state aware of the hit, it would prove difficult for him to finish his dirty deed.  He accompanied Pax to the hospital and waited impatiently in the ER while every available surgeon worked on her.  Updates were sparse.  During the wait, he had heard from Remy, who told him their daughter was fine.  With that particular worry off his mind, he continued to wait and demanded information at regular intervals.  While he paced and worried, he cursed Pax, cursed her for coming back into his life, and for putting herself into the line of fire.

After a few hours, he had to sit down.  He was emotionally and physically drained.  His hyped up adrenaline released its hold, and he had no choice but to listen to his internal cues.  _You stupid fuck.  Rest, goddamn you_.  Despite fighting his exhaustion, he began to doze against his will.  An equally exhausted surgeon awakened him three hours later.  Quietly, sedately, Donovan followed the surgeon down a long corridor where he was led into a small room.  There were three or four beds inside, but only one was occupied.

"I can only give you two minutes," the surgeon said sternly.  

Donovan nodded absently.  If it took two minutes, he would be surprised.  As soon as she realized who it was, she would cast him away.  He stepped up to the bed and reached out to lay his hand over hers.  "Jonella?"

She managed to open her eyes just a tiny bit.  She was zoned out of her mind on painkillers and was still fighting against the effects of the anesthesia, but she had no trouble recognizing the fucking bastard looming over her, touching her hand.  "You…you fuck," she managed weakly.  "I was close, goddamn you," she croaked, "close to retirement, and…and…and you fucked it up."

A slight grin touched his lips.  "You can't ever retire, Pax.  Whenever you try, I'll just kick you back in."

"Fuck you, too, Spankie."  


	13. Who's That Girl

**WHO'S THAT GIRL?**

Donovan placed a very gentle kiss on her lips before pulling away to lie at her side.  She went easily into his arms and found her body instinctively snuggling against his.  For a very long time, they simply lay together in the dark stillness.  Words weren't exactly necessary at this point, but Donovan somehow felt he needed to say something to her.  He simply hoped he wouldn't ruin the moment.  He drew away from her just the slightest bit so he could look down at her serene face.  

His hand came up and caressed her cheek ever so gently.  "It feels so wonderful having you in my bed like this."

She reached up and covered his hand with hers.  "It feels wonderful being next to you."

He leaned down and once more gave her a very gentle kiss before drawing her back into his embrace.  Not long after that, they both drifted off to sleep.  He couldn't believe how incredible it felt holding her though the night.  Early the next morning, he awoke to an empty bed and equally empty arms.  He wasn't alarmed just yet.  She could have easily gotten up and gone into another room.  He climbed out of bed and went to the bathroom first.  _Goddamn it_.  Written across the mirror in lipstick were two words:  _I'm sorry_.  Just like that, she had left.  She had just fucking left.    

Finis?????? 


End file.
